


Coping Mechanisms

by amireal



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just because the universe is headed towards entropy is no reason to think that it won't get better."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: Thanks to chopchica who had to crack the whip bunches during beta. I hate you my dear. Die in a fiery death? Thanks. *innocent blink*

Rodney's scream was echoed through the command center, warbling through the radio as it reached its final notes, ending in a ragged whimper.

"Rodney!" John was already running, feet hitting the ground so fast the shock went from his ankles, to his knees, through his hips, and jostled his hand as he tried to open his radio connection. "Beckett, medical emergency in the jumper bay!"

His heart pounded so hard his chest felt bruised and tender under the weight of his vest. Sweat and adrenaline spiked as he rounded the corner and met the medical team mid-run. He left Beckett and his team in the dust, his speed having improved greatly in the last year or so.

John took the last turn on pure momentum, sticking a hand out to pivot on the nearest door jamb as he skittered into the bay.

Rodney was in the corner, propped up like a broken doll. His pale face was and sweaty, limbs askew and limp beside him. His right hand was jammed between two access panels with little rivulets of blood sliding down his wrist and forearm, into his already soaking sleeve.

"Ohjesus." The words ran together and John slid to his knees beside Rodney, hands frozen and unsure of where to touch. "Rodney?"

Rodney's eyes cracked open; wet, red-rimmed, and puffy. "Beckett?" he croaked.

John nodded frantically; grabbing Rodney's other hand, which was cold and clammy in his own. He squeezed carefully. "He's coming, Rodney."

Rodney's eyes closed again, and his head listed to the side.

"Rodney!" John yelled frantically. "Talk to me! Tell me what happened."

He could see Rodney's throat working, a bob of an Adams apple under gray skin. "..tripped something… hand crushed…" The last words were said with startling sadness.

John swallowed roughly. Rodney's hands were nearly as important as his brain, expressive and strong and the instruments by which Rodney sang.

"No, Rodney, Beckett's maybe another minute away. We'll get you out, and he'll fix it, and you'll be alienating people in the labs in no time." John was aware he was babbling and promising things he had no right to promise, but Rodney's fingers flexed and pressed against his palm, tugging at him pathetically.

John met Rodney's eyes, taking in the wide and dilated pupils and the lips red with bite marks. Rodney's head shook just a bit and John cursed Rodney's intellect with bitter hatred. Sometimes Rodney wasn't a hypochondriac. He became aware of all the people milling about, the other people who had stopped working frantically. "What are you waiting for? Do you know how to release that thing when Beckett asks you to?"

The white-coated scientists jumped at the anger in his voice and talk of blow torches, reciprocating saws, and reprogramming floated over his head.

He felt brittle and shaky, and when the metallic wheel sounds of the gurney reached his ears, he nearly cried with relief. The doctor could fix it, could wipe away that pained hopeless look on Rodney's face, and make the small cries of hurt disappear.

Beckett appeared in his field of vision, crouching in front Rodney and looking terribly grim. Every move seemed to hurt Rodney more. Even the simplest touch to take his pulse had Rodney making sounds that made John's throat close and his shoulders tighten.

"Rodney." Beckett flashed a light in his eyes. "Considering that they might have to cut you out of there, I'd prefer that you remain as lucid as possible in case you need to contribute, so I'll be giving you a strong local, and a small dose of regular pain killers."

Rodney squeezed John's hand tightly, the bones grinding painfully within Rodney's grip. "Rodney, you ready?" he prompted.

"…go…" Rodney turned his head into John's shoulder, making godawful noises into the fabric of John's uniform as Beckett worked on his arm and hand.

"There we go, Rodney. He's almost done," John said into Rodney's sweat-soaked hair. He met Beckett's eyes from over the top of Rodney's head.

"Somebody speak to me!" John yelled and felt a small flickering of thankfulness when Zelenka appeared at his shoulder.

"We are trying to figure out if it is possibly to retract the panel his hand is pinned under within a reasonable amount of time," Zelenka said quietly. "The other option is cutting through it--"

Rodney made a loud whimpering noise and squeezed John's hand harder.

"The panel, Rodney, cutting through the panel!" Zelenka quickly corrected, looking sick. "That option would take little time at all; however, it would not be easy."

John wiggled carefully, placing his body between Rodney and the wall, giving Rodney a more comfortable and warm place to lean on. Each shiver that ran through Rodney's frame seemed to hurt more. He looked up at Zelenka. "What do you mean, 'not easy'?"

Zelenka looked at him, Rodney, and then the wall, in successive flicks of his eyes. "The equipment required would cause much vibration," he clarified.

Oh dear lord. Rodney curled up into him, wetness seeping through the fabric on his shoulder. Breathing hurt; John could see it with each shallow movement of Rodney's chest, with each flex of his ribcage against John's.

With a skill John envied, Beckett put the oxygen under Rodney's nose, carefully lifting his head and hooking the tubes over Rodney's ears. Some of the painkiller had to be kicking in, because when Rodney slumped back down, the worst of the tenseness was gone. Their bodies settled together, and Rodney's small yelps of pain reduced in frequency.

"I'll give you ten minutes," Beckett said quietly. "After that, I'm dosing him up and you're cutting him out."

The stream of Czech was the only thing remaining behind as Zelenka raced across the room to hurry up the rest of the scientists. Distantly, John heard the clunking of heavy equipment, each muted thump making Rodney jump just a bit.

John moved his chin so that his mouth was close to Rodney's ear. "It's okay, Rodney, it's almost done, you can do this."

He babbled through Beckett's careful manipulations. Diodes were attached, vital monitors were set up, and blood pressure was taken repeatedly. John was no doctor, but he had some field training, and knew enough to be very scared of the numbers appearing on the screen.

By then, even Rodney's long lashes were clumped together in sweat. He could feel Rodney's back slick with perspiration against his chest. "Zelenka's doing that big armed thing he does when he's onto something.."

The laugh was gruff and fast, and full of pain. Wet, humid breath hit the side of John's face, leaving a cold damp patch in its wake.

"…john..?"

It took John a few moments to realize Rodney was talking to him.

"What, Rodney?"

"…you're the…" Rodney's breath seemed to be running out fast. "…the best…"

John's heart nearly stopped as his chest squeezed tightly. His lungs contracted as if he's just taken a few g's unexpectedly. "Rodney," he choked out, but he couldn't say it, say anything. He was too caught up in the heavy weight of Rodney's body and the muted sounds of the other people milling around them.

"…you… wanted to tell… you…" Rodney went on, voice frail and shaking and unlike Rodney in every way.

The press of other people suffocated John, and Beckett's purposefully averted face made it all too real. He couldn't have the conversation he wanted to have, that Rodney was obviously already having. John swallowed back a harsh admonishment for Rodney to stop giving his last words, he wasn't going to die damnit.

"…saving your life… was never… as scary… as it should… have been…"

Rodney strained against him, voice pushing past his pain so that he could whisper things into John's ear. They were close; he could feel the small tickle of Rodney's lashes blinking against his cheek, and the fleeting moisture of lips across his ear.

"I'll be right back." Beckett said suddenly, standing carefully and placing a casual hand on John's shoulder. "Two minutes." Then he was leading the medical personnel a few feet away.

John blinked slowly, dragging his lids across tired eyes, focusing on Beckett as he starting issuing medical jargon in a too-loud voice. In a flash he understood and was almost too panic stricken to do anything with his precious few seconds.

"…john?" Rodney pushed at him, uninjured hand fumbling free and making an aborted move up his chest.

Looking down, John saw Rodney's half open eyes looking at him, a spark of determination buried under the pain. "Rodney," he breathed. "You will get better. That's an order."

Rodney's face pushed back against his shoulder and for a moment John thought that'd be all there was. Then Rodney's hand pressed at his chest again and fisted John's shirt in his trembling fingers. His weak tug should have had no affect, but in that moment it felt like the strongest pull in John's entire life.

Zelenka's voice pitched across the room. "Everyone, over here!"

Beckett spoke up next, "Not you, lads, we're not done."

And then they were alone in a room full of people, and Rodney was in his arms, fading slowly out of consciousness, face a mass of pain-filled lines. Rodney was tugging at John's shirt, moving his own body despite the pain and what could he do?

Their mouths met quickly, just a simple brush, a small, dry, suck on Rodney's lush upper lip, and the careful return movement. It was chaste and weak and possibly the worst imitation of a kiss John had had in a long time.

It was also so devastating he had to look away as Rodney settled himself back on his shoulder.

"Colonel?" Beckett's quiet voice made him realize his eyes had been closed.

"Yeah, Doc?" He felt gritty and wrung out.

Beckett looked apologetic. "We're almost out of time. I'll probably ask you to stay were you are, as one of two things is most likely to happen. One, I'll have to drug him or two, he'll pass out from the pain. Either way, I want to make sure he doesn't put any undue stress on his hand, so you'll need to hold him up until I say it's safe." Beckett's eyes were kind as they looked at him. "Can you handle that?"

John nodded, waiting for that second rush of adrenaline to calm his nerves and make the nausea go away. He felt guilty and fidgety under the weight of Beckett's kind gaze.

"Dr. Beckett!" Zelenka's voice called from across the room.

Beckett looked up hopefully. "Good news?"

John's heart raced as he watched Zelenka shake his head sadly.

"Alright then, grab your tools while I get ready over here." Beckett turned back to them. "Colonel, can you get further behind Rodney? So that if he were to relax completely he wouldn't pull anything?"

John nodded, swallowing thickly. "Yeah, I'm going to tilt him forward and wiggle in behind him, getting my leg right between him and the wall."

Beckett nodded. "Alright then on three."

They moved him, and Rodney gritted and screamed in small shallow gasps, but John was quick, and soon Rodney was resting against his chest, cradled between his two tense thighs.

"That's perfect," Beckett declared, before emptying an entire needle into Rodney's IV.

Zelenka appeared with an ominous looking cutting device. "Perhaps I should start it once now, so you are not startled by the noise?"

John nodded, arms circling Rodney's torso, holding tight. He watched Zelenka flip the switch, and the noise started low and then built and grew until his teeth rattled and his gut tensed. Rodney clawed at his hands, pressing weak fingers into his wrist.

Zelenka flicked the switch off. "I have protective ear coverings for all; they have radios that can operate on VOX so you may still hear each other without trouble."

"Quickly now," Beckett said urgently. "The amount of morphine I gave him could depress his respiratory functions."

Headgear was handed out, and Beckett relinquished his position to Zelenka so that he could have optimum access to the paneling. Beckett settled next to John, within easy reaching distance. He nodded to Zelenka. "Whenever you're ready."

Rodney's hand twisted around John's -- grip lax and sweaty until Zelenka began cutting, and then the strong, bone-grinding clutch was back. Rodney screamed, and Beckett immediately offered something to bite down on. It muffled the painful sound, but the high pitched keening still transmitted perfectly over the radio.

Zelenka had been right; cutting Rodney out was merciless but quick. Rodney soaked through both their uniforms by the time Zelenka was most of the way through. Then Beckett reached across them, pushing Rodney's tense body into John's. He wedged something large and foamy under the arm just as Zelenka cut through the last of the material.

The squishy wedge caught Rodney's arm before it moved more than a few inches, but the release of pressure made Rodney give one last body-tensing scream before he fell back limply into John's embrace.

The hand looked mangled -- misshapen. The blood glistened in the alien light of the jumper bay, and Rodney's fingers twitched spasmodically, even though Rodney was unconscious. Beckett moved it carefully and worked quickly; shouting orders, giving more drugs, and temporarily bandaging. Then they were moving him, pulling him out of John's arms and flat onto the floor. Intubation and then bag.  
Inflate. Deflate. Inflate. Deflate.

Rodney's chest moved shallowly and John shivered in the cold air, eyes glued to Rodney's form as it was lifted and then wheeled away.

His chest burned as he flashed hot then cold then hot again, and the blood on his pants leg shined dully. He got onto his hands and knees, crawled three feet and threw up.

Someone pressed a cold compress to his neck and forced a bowl under his head. The yellow swatch of a medical uniform swam before his eyes as he was led to another gurney. He was given water to rinse with, which he spat into another basin, and then he endured the humiliating ride to the infirmary.

******

Someone had slipped him a mickey and John was pretty pissed. He shook his head, feeling groggy and slow. It took long seconds for the other figure in the room to solidify.

Elizabeth handed him some water which he took with a shaking hand. He hated being drugged.

She waited for him to take a few sips before speaking. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Being drugged against my will is always the highlight of my day."

The blood on his pants had dried in the interim, crusting off in flakes as he moved around. "Rodney?" he asked, heart hammering so suddenly he felt dizzy.

"Still in surgery." Elizabeth offered him a hand.

He took it and hopped off the gurney, momentarily unsteady as his knees went rubbery. "Any word?" John asked, because that's what a concerted commander would ask. Not because the hollow memory of Rodney's pain-tensed body in his arms made him feel tight in too many places.

Elizabeth sighed, and for a moment John was afraid that something horrible had happened while he'd been unconscious, something irrevocable and painful and life changing, and he'd goddamned slept through it.

"It's delicate surgery, John." She gestured for him to follow her out into the main ward. "Thankfully, one of the surgeons on the Daedelus did several orthopedic rotations in his residency; he's in there with Dr. Beckett."

John nodded, taking in the other worried faces scattered over the various chairs. Zelenka looked especially tense, bent over his tablet and punching in data frantically.

"Colonel," Zelenka acknowledged without looking up, "I am glad you are feeling better."

He felt a flush creep up from under his collar, unbelievably embarrassed that he'd needed medical attention in the middle of all that. He sat down next to Zelenka, peering over his shoulder. "Nothing like a good nap to refresh the spirits. Whatcha working on?"

The question was a little desperate, and his voice was reedy and sad and possibly as shaky as the rest of his body, but he asked because just sitting there, silent and morose, and waiting for each little tidbit of information, would have probably shoved him right over the edge.

Zelenka moved the stylus a few more times before answering. "I Am attempting to beat Rodney's FreeCell score."

The smile that produced was so unexpected it left him wobbly and lightheaded. "Well then," he leaned closer over Zelenka's shoulder, "you should probably move that 4 of spades over there."

Looking over his shoulder, Zelenka smiled tiredly. "I have always had this theory that counting cards would break the algorithm. Would you like to help prove this?"

John shrugged. "Why not?"

By the time Beckett appeared, bone weary and gray faced, after hours of surgery and about two emergencies a piece for everyone waiting, John felt stretched too thin and was a few small steps from taking down the next irritating interruption with a gun and a smile.

They descended on him like hungry hawks, desperate for good news. Perfect news.

Beckett gave a weary shake and a shrug. "Rodney will survive, the hand will be intact. I can't say much more than that till the swelling goes down and some of the healing begins." He pulled his gown off in angry movements, throwing it in the hamper off to the side.

"Go on, all of you," he went on. "He'll not be awake for hours yet and the lot of you look like you're about to fall over where you stand."

Forced into a corner, John took slow steps, hoping to be left behind without notice.

"Colonel Sheppard."

He winced reflexively before realizing it was Beckett calling him back.

"Do not think you can get away so easily. Biro told me she sedated you, I'd like to make sure you're alright." He gave John an pained smile. "It'll make me feel better to ensure one of my patients will be perfectly fine, before I go pass out in an uncomfortable chair somewhere."

When phrased like that, how could John refuse? Not that he'd actually wanted to leave the infirmary anyway, but still, he felt a little out of joint at being so easily bent by sneaky doctor guilt.

******

John did finally leave the infirmary after threats of another bout of sedation. After all, life went on and the current crisis involved one person, not the entire station. And saying like that just felt wrong, because Rodney being out of commission meant everyone had to make changes, but nothing large, or all encompassing. Routine had to be tweaked, small adjustments made, and as much as he wished it, he couldn't stay on pause. Even though his own sleep at night was fitful and short lived and left him feeling more tired than when he'd started -- which was saying a lot -- he did his duty.

He slept and ate enough to keep moving, rearranged missions and duty rosters, not quite ready to replace Rodney on his team, however temporarily that might hopefully be, and visited his friend who lay unconscious and pale, swathed in white and strung with tubes and wires, looking like A discarded puppet amongst live people.

John kept a mental tally of the hours and minutes he visited, the number of times in a day. Sometime on day three he had a small panic attack when he realized the numbers were too high. He got that disconnected feeling in his legs, his head felt full of helium, and he had to sit down abruptly.

Still though, he went for his evening visit, taking up residence in the chair next to Rodney's bed. He took some time to stare at Rodney's purple and red fingers, hoping maybe the swelling had gone down a bit.

The entire hand was held inside something that kept it immobilized. Small bits of shiny metal stuck out at odd angles. John recognized them from injuries past, pins holding bits of bone in place. His own hand ached in sympathy.

He almost missed the small movement of Rodney's lips, a dry tongue poking out, wetting cracked lips. John fumbled with the insane looking sippy cup on the nearby table, nearly dropping it in his excitement to see any movement at all.

"Rodney?" John prompted softy. "I've got some water if you want it."

Rodney's head nodded slightly, eyelids still closed.

The straw sat on Rodney's lips for long seconds as John watched him take sluggish sips. The slight pull released and he sat the cup back down.

"…thanks…"

"No problem Rodney," John answered just as quietly as the drug-laced voice had been, but Rodney was already asleep again.

******

By the time Rodney was up for more than one-word conversations, John had had to bite the bullet and put someone new on his team. Zelenka had actually volunteered, muttering something about guilt and pulling his weight and giving something to Rodney that would annoy him out of bed if all else failed.

John couldn't find it in his heart to say no, only to be surprised the next day during what he'd thought would be Zelenka's first of many weapons qualifications sessions, when the small, and now officially scary man hit center mass eight out of ten times.

 

"As a young man in my country," Zelenka explained, "academics alone was not enough to get one dismissed from service to their country."

"Ah." John moved onto the P90 which required a bit more learning, mostly because Zelenka was more familiar with the longer barreled semi-automatics, closer to the AK-47s and the M-16s.

All in all, it was pretty painless. John missed the bitching, but Zelenka brought him coffee when they had a briefing before 0900, so it was an even trade-off.

Except when he sat next to Rodney's bed, and had his daily five or six sentence conversations.

"Radek, huh?" Rodney's eyes held a muted spark; the drugs in his system were still fairly heavy..

"He's not bad. In shape, not afraid of a weapon," John said. "Though the glasses kind of worry me."

"Mostly for details," Rodney assured him. "Running for his life, he should be okay, assuming he doesn't panic and trip over a root or something. 'Sides, Dr. Jackson practically owns stock in lenscrafters."

John snuck in a quick squeeze of fingers to Rodney's good hand, and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, but doesn't Jackson have a nasty habit of dying?"

"Good point." Rodney was already starting to drift again, and John took comfort in the visible shrinking of Rodney's injured hand, the colors not quite so vivid anymore.

He was ready to leave Rodney to his mid-afternoon nap when Rodney's eyes peaked open again. "John?"

"Yeah, Rodney?" He sat back down, but Rodney was silent and unmoving. John shook his head, and breathed deeply. "I'll be back later."

******

Beckett had told them that improvements would happen in weird plateaus. One day Rodney would suddenly have more energy; his awake time would double, especially as the worst of the trauma stopped straining his body.

To John it seemed like Rodney stayed too tired for too long. It was unnatural for him to not be speaking constantly, or waving his hands in frustration, or even just talking with his mouth full.

Their first mission off world since Rodney's accident, two weeks and two minor surgeries later, had John tense and uneasy. Zelenka stood next to him, looking like a small shadow of his usual team mate as he fiddled with his buckles.

"You'll be fine." John stopped to give Zelenka his 'trust me while I steal your wallet' smile.

"Then why do you look like you are about to attend some distant relative's funeral?" Zelenka gave him an 'I'll be hitting below the belt now' smile.

John admired that about him. "Look, Zelenka, it's not that I don't think you'll do fine, it's just that--"

"Rodney is in the infirmary with a big white cotton ball stuck on his hand, and he has not insulted either of us in weeks." Zelenka nodded knowingly. "Perfectly understandable."

When they got back, Zelenka had to drag him through the event horizon, while Teyla and Ronon covered their sixes. His leg hurt like a son of a bitch, and he was so angry at himself he could only give Elizabeth the tersest of explanations.

John felt stupid and uncoordinated as Beckett manipulated him onto his very own gurney. Stupid restless natives with stupid fears about stupid strangers who did stupid things like look the stupid chief in his stupid eyes.

Apparently an arrow through the calf got him a one-way ticket to surgery and a dry mouth. But at least he woke up pain free, if cottony in the head.

"So, I hear you think you're invincible again."

John's head snapped to his right so quickly a muscle protested sharply. "Rodney!"

Rodney smiled at him and gave a little wave with his left hand. "It's a funny thing. I woke up expecting my usual pathetic conversation with you, and you weren't there." His eyebrows crunched together. "I found myself rather annoyed."

John's grin was so wide it hurt his cheeks. "How ya feeling, Rodney?"

Rodney considered the question very carefully. "They're letting me have two solid meals a day now. I get to chew my food and everything."

"So, better then?" He tried to wipe the goofy smile off his face, ungodly happy that Rodney was awake enough to make fun of him.

"You look like a lunatic you know," Rodney informed him.

"Funnily enough, I feel like one too."

Rodney snorted and relaxed back into his pillow. "Zelenka's been by. He threatened me with his resignation if he has to go into the field permanently."

John felt a little bad about that, but at least no one had tried to eat them. "He did fine."

"Oh," Rodney corrected, "he had a ball. He just doesn't like running, childhood trauma or something."

******

Turned out an injury that left him limping and in crutches gave him a great excuse to hang out in the infirmary. It was pretty cool, except the whole limping and crutches thing, and the fact that Beckett actually wanted to do checkups on him on a regular basis.

But when it was all done, John could sit next to Rodney and have almost entire conversations about nothing at all.

Limited duty was sweet; small bits of paperwork, no patrols, and Major Lorne looking like he'd rather sit in a small locked room with Rodney than take on any more duties.

Zelenka thanked him for getting injured by slipping him the Invader ZIM DVDs. Apparently the waiting list was weeks, if not months long.

When Rodney heard about Zelenka's gift, he sent John hobbling off for a laptop and the first disc. Watching Rodney laugh that hard was reward enough for the brain damage that show had to be doing to his own head.

During his next visit he brought popcorn.

It seemed the longer Rodney managed to stay awake, the more likely he was to get bored, and as much as John enjoyed watching the color come back to Rodney's face and the swelling slowly reduce, he was man enough to admit that a bored Rodney scared the crap out of him.

So in the best interests of everyone involved, and all of Atlantis really, he set about to make sure Rodney had plenty of mental fodder to occupy himself with. Especially as John's own injury was healing, and he once again felt the press of minutes and hours he spent staring at Rodney's sleeping face.

He'd weaned off the visits, cutting them down, until one day he stepped in to be greeted by Rodney's frown.

"What's the matter, they run out of that stew you like?" John asked, setting his newly acquired cane down next him.

"I remember most of what happened you know," Rodney started abruptly. "And if this is your way of -- I don't know," Rodney's one hand flailed, "letting me down gently--"

"Would you shut up?" John hissed, looking around frantically. "Some of us have a better sense of survival than that!"

That actually shut Rodney up. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, it's just that…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Oh wow, something in John's chest ached and he licked his lips nervously. "Rodney, I can't-- we can't--" the words choked in the back of his throat, "if we could I--"

The resigned look on Rodney's face hurt more than anything he could have done. Rodney nodded carefully. "Right, I understand, it's actually surprisingly satisfying just knowing," he said quietly, not sounding overly upset, but he wouldn't look at John when he said it.

"Friends, okay?" He risked a squeeze of Rodney's hand and gave a lopsided smile.

Rodney's head swung in his direction. "You want to be friends?" His eyes crinkled downwards and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

Okay, not as easy as he'd hoped. John nodded. "I'd like that; it's worked out okay so far."

Rodney regarded him with an air of suspicion. "You do know that totally makes you the girl, right?"

On second thought, it might just be that easy. That urge to kill was coming back with a vengeance.

******

Friendship was apparently really hard when you actively tried to do something that had once been effortless. So very annoyingly effortless.

They stuck to things that didn't actually involve interaction, sharing videos, playing cards -- Rodney was a shark at Rummy -- and helping him overtake Zelenka's new high score in FreeCell.

After their little talk, cutting down the visits to just shy of appropriate was easier, and Rodney often dictated to him when he was expected to appear anyway, so a lot of the guilt was taken out of his hands.

And that made him feel vaguely… guilty.

Rodney would've laughed at him and used nicely appropriate words like paradox and wannabe schizophrenic.

The day came when John's injury had healed to nothing more than a whitish scar on his hairy leg, and Beckett smacked his name back on the active duty roster.

Zelenka promised retribution at dinner, looking distinctly unhappy with his pre-mission briefing tucked under his arm.

Arriving at Rodney's bedside, John had the sinking feeling that he too had heard about the mission.

"Try to remember your body already has all the holes it needs to survive," Rodney groused before John could even get comfortable.

"I dunno." John slouched. "I was thinking about an earring."

Rodney rolled his eyes and whispered, "And you were worried about the gay stigma *before*."

They both froze mid-sarcasm and looked away. John swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Apparently that's not a good topic of conversation yet," he said hoarsely.

Rodney nodded.

They stared at each other for too long until Rodney abruptly blurted, "They take the pins out tomorrow."

That's when John noticed Rodney's deeper than average circles and restless disposition. "Oh," he said, because anything else would have felt entirely inadequate.

"I heard the nurses talking about physical therapy. Rock, Paper, Scissors was bandied about as the way of deciding who got the onerous duty," Rodney said dryly. "Did you know the pleasure of not having my company is worth quite a lot?" The small, scared look on his face disappeared for a moment. "Part of me thinks I should be able to use that to my advantage somehow."

John shook his head. "You just leave that to me."

Rodney immediately looked worried. "Why are you smiling like that? Don't smile like that, it *scares* me!"

The rest of the visit was strained, stilted, and painful on so many angles John felt like he'd rolled around on a patch of pebble covered ground. He stayed until Rodney's head had lolled to the side, face lax in sleep, worry eased from around his eyes.

The last of John's own tension didn't leave until after he'd had a private conversation with Beckett on his way out. Whistling quietly as he walked down the corridors, he wondered if Rodney would like to share some of Nurse Pauline's chocolate stash.

******

 

******

Bruises, lots of bruises. This time he walked on his own to the infirmary, damnit, though Zelenka hovering around him like he was about to fall over at any moment wasn't helping his sunny disposition.

"Ibuprofen, a hot shower and a good night's sleep," Beckett pronounced. "And I think you'll cheer up when you see your part of the bounty."

Nice. He hadn't even been on base, so no one could trace it back to him.

He hoped Beckett had given Biro a good chunk as well; after all, working for the other side was bound to put her on some people's shit lists. He made a note to look out for anything too out of the ordinary. Not many people were willing to risk the wrath of the nurses on Rodney's behalf, and he liked her for it.

Sitting on his bed were two --one his, one Rodney's – moderately-sized boxes full of goodies. Beckett must have expanded the plan to include the entire nursing staff. John briefly thought about taking names, before stumbling across a piece of paper titled 'Unwitting Contributors to the Cause'.

Beckett was officially the coolest guy ever.

At the bottom of the list was a hand written p.s. 'I'd planned on doing a majority of his physical therapy myself anyway.'

******

"You didn't have to take me literally," Rodney said, as John lowered himself carefully into the seat.

"No new holes, that's all you said." John stole Rodney's extra pillow and put it between his back and the unyielding surface behind it. "Next time set your parameters more carefully."

Rodney shot him a withering look. "I'll be sure to couch it in some sort of sports metaphor."

"Good thinking." John shot back his own look of disdain. "You know us grunts, we need it spelled out in a language we can understand."

Rodney pulled a face, and rolled his eyes as John checked out the new cast. It looked smaller and lighter and showed a bit more of his hand. It disturbed John that there were still some deep purple marks visible. "How's the hand?"

"Throbbing."

"Ah."

"So…" Rodney fiddled with his blanket. "Who'd you hit on?"

"Oh, come on!"

******

Pretty soon after, Rodney started taking back some of his duties, and Zelenka stopped looking quite so pinched at mission briefings.

The first time John visited and found Rodney surrounded by three different computers, face flushed and left hand tapping steadily, he quickly backed away, savoring the site from the corner until Rodney rolled his neck about ten minutes later.

Of course, when he spotted John, he nearly dropped the computer. After recovering it by the skin of his fingers, he placed it off to the side and glared. "I'm getting you a cowbell."

"You look happy." John took his usual seat, first moving computer number two to another safe location.

"Carson's letting me work a couple hours a day." Rodney was practically vibrating good cheer.

"Looks good on you," John said smiling, meaning every word because Rodney looked ten times better now that he could do something productive again.

Rodney's eyes softened and the edges of his lips curled up into a smile. John's heart stuttered in his chest and his stomach clenched soundly. The warmth of the smile chilled him and he averted his eyes.

"Sorry, you just…" Rodney faded off. "Sorry."

"S'okay, Rodney." John looked at his feet. "Tell me whose mistake you were fixing when I walked in."

"Someone new, whose name I don't really care enough to learn." Rodney grabbed the nearest computer. "Radek came in here and said that if I didn't take over the project he'd be bald inside three months."

Right, good, normal talk helped. "So basically it was a mercy thing?"

"Right, because if you think Radek with long hair can be scary, imagine him bald."

John snickered and relaxed back into the chair. "When's the physical therapy start?"

******

Three more missions, all short and easy, revisiting the few allies they'd managed to make, and Radek seemed to relax fractionally with each one. They'd all found their places with their new teammate. Radek's sense of humor had taken a while to get used to. It was just as sharp and biting as Rodney's, yet still totally different.

Rodney was working longer and longer hours, and as long as Beckett didn't think he looked overtired, he didn't say anything. John was sure that Rodney had snuck in a fourth computer to play with when the nurses took his regular three away at night.

One day, he wandered in at the appointed time to find Rodney passed out cold, sweat still damp on his forehead, clothes, and bedding. Fear pulsed through him until Beckett approached from his side.

"We removed the hard cast today," Beckett explained. "Did the first round of movements. He'll be more tired for a while."

John nodded absently, eyes scanning the newest device wrapped around Rodney's right arm, showing off even more of his hand.

"I'll sit with him anyway, Doc, in case he wakes up."

Beckett nodded and wandered off to do something doctory elsewhere.

Rodney's hand seemed small and fragile cradled in its black brace. The deep bruising was still apparent, most especially surrounding the dozen or so small scars and incision marks. The fingers that had once looked long and supple were now disproportioned; skinny, with knots of joints sticking out at all angles. The hand itself was still puffy, angry in its coloring.

Rodney made a small sound, wiggling restlessly, and then whimpering in pain as his newly freed hand flopped around.

John unconsciously made quieting noises until the movements stopped and Rodney settled down with one last small moan. Jaw clenched, John buckled down in his seat, and picked up a random computer. Rodney's FreeCell score had been bugging him anyway.

******

The next week or so left Rodney exhausted, which meant that John got to practice a lot of FreeCell. He supposed he could have changed his visiting hours, worked around Rodney's therapy sessions, but the coward's way out took a hell of a lot less energy.

Distance, John thought, might be what they both needed.

However, good luck and easy pickings just weren't the sort of things that came in bulk in the Pegasus galaxy. Hostage situations sucked, especially when he got stuck right in the middle of one.

The nasty looking guard had a thick beefy arm around Radek's neck.

"You want who?" John asked carefully.

"McKay," their leader said again. "He has gained a certain notoriety and we have a position we would like him to fill."

"I am insulted," Radek said into the arm holding him. "Just because I do not scream like a girl in the face of danger, I am of no use to anyone?"

John shook his head, determined not to laugh. "You don't want McKay, he whines like a little girl and has no respect for authority." He pointed at Radek. "Notice how he's not on my team anymore?"

That actually threw the leader off and for a few hopeful moments John believed there would be an easy way out.

Instead they were all locked in a dark cement box for hours, and John knew exactly how many, because this time they'd let him keep his watch, which was both good and bad, because he didn't have to guess at how long they'd been there, but he'd also gotten to count each second as it happened.

They were dragged at gunpoint -- Ronon growling dangerously in the back -- to the main room.

"…I can only help you if you find one of your scientists that actually has more than two brain cells to rub together! He has to understand what I'm saying before he can do it!"

What the hell?

Rounding the corner, John came face to face with a tableau he hadn't actually expected.

Rodney was standing, arm in a sling and held protectively against his chest, yelling full-tilt at a complement of armed soldiers. As John got closer, he could see the gray complexion and sweat gathering on Rodney's brow. "McKay! What the hell are you doing here?"

Jerking around, Rodney's eyes widened when he saw them, and for one brief moment they lingered on John, full of fright and annoyance. "Saving your asses!"

Taking his cue, John narrowed his eyes and turned all his confusion into anger. "Did it occur to you our asses didn't need your help?"

One hand on his hip, Rodney shook his head, "Not really, no."

John got a few steps closer, and the fine tremor in Rodney's frame caught his eye. "Your faith in us makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. What exactly did you promise these lunatics?"

"They wanted better generators; I'm telling them what to build." Rodney made an abrupt gesture with his lame hand. "I'd draw them schematics, but I wasn't allowed any electronics, so I'm waiting for them to find someone who isn't a throwback to the missing link, so we can get on with this and I can take a nap."

"Are you insane?" John took another step closer. "Did you explain to them that your injury is barely healed, and that activity like this is stupid, reckless, and idiotic?" He was yelling by then, throat hurting with the volume.

"Of course I did!" Rodney stepped closer as well. "But when they informed me that it was my health or your *life*, the choice was oddly easy." Another step. "Of course, now I'm not so sure!" One more.

Rodney stepped directly into the light, and from his angle, not only could John make out every line of pain in Rodney's face and the hunched posture of someone having trouble standing up, but he could also pick out the textured handle of his .9 millimeter peeking up from behind Rodney's brace.

Oh yeah, that was the sweet stuff.

John pivoted on his heel, bringing him another half-step closer. "Get your guy here, get this insanity over with and let us go."

"You're free," the leader said. John really wasn't trying all that hard to remember the names of people that held him at gunpoint anymore. If it happened more than once, he'd make an effort. "Except for McKay, who will stay behind until he is done."

John decided he might make an exception in this guy's case. "Yeah, and in what universe do you really think that's going to happen?" he argued, taking deep breaths, trying to hold back the real anger.

"This one," the guy said smugly.

Oh that was it, it was on.

"You people make me sick." John threw his hands up in disgust. "Did it ever occur to you that if you asked *nicely* we'd have been happy to help? But no, you've all got anger management issues that you clearly need to talk to someone about." John nodded at Rodney. "And also, a hint for the future, it might be a good idea to tie the hostage's hands."

Rodney's left hand moved lightening quick, wrapping around the gun. He aimed behind John's head, shooting and then tossing the gun over to John, before he quickly dropped to the ground and hid behind the nearest solid object.

Ronon dove for the fallen weapon of the guard Rodney had shot, while John took aim at the soldiers across the room, trusting Ronon and Teyla to have his six. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zelenka crawl towards Rodney.

It was over pretty quick. Macho leader guy was apparently not so macho without his half-dozen personal guards. He also didn't have the sense not to arrange the meeting someplace far away from the stargate.

A quick threat, and they had their gear in hand and a wormhole home.

Sometimes they had a good day.

Zelenka called his name frantically, and John skidded to his knees in front of a very unhappy Rodney.

"He will need help getting through the stargate," Zelenka said.

John carefully wound an arm around Rodney's waist. "Ready to stand?"

Rodney nodded and pushed up hard. They stood without too much difficulty, but Rodney leaned a great deal of weight on Sheppard's shoulders. Feeling frustrated, angry, and a whole lot of other things best left unexplored, John made his way carefully home.

On the other side of the event horizon, Beckett made it to Rodney's side just before his knees gave out.

John let out a startled "Whoa there! We got you!"

By the time they got him onto the gurney, Rodney was unconscious.

******

Beckett greeted the awaiting crowd that had gathered in his absence with a curt nod. "He's fine, really, he just needs rest."

That seemed to placate most of the onlookers, who wandered off looking worried but distracted. John, Elizabeth, Radek, Teyla and even Ronon stuck around, giving Beckett knowing gazes.

Apparently sensing that he wasn't going to be let go so easily, Beckett leaned casually against the wall and waited expectantly with a patient look on his face.

Not one to disappoint, John did his own bit of leaning on an empty bed. "You're gonna tell us McKay forgot to eat?"

"Don't be silly, Colonel." Beckett shook his head. " Rodney's got a whole lot of special reactions to things, some usually minor, some not so minor ,and some that become major if we're not careful." He motioned for them to follow him as he pushed off the wall. "This was just an example of a minor one becoming a major one, which was then exacerbated when he insisted on going there to help you."

He led them to Rodney's bed, where they could see him sleeping heavily, head turned to one side, lips parted and lax. He'd been changed back into the white, patient hospital scrubs. There were a few extra monitors attached, and it felt like a step back to those days just after the accident, when it seemed like every machine in the infirmary was hooked up to Rodney.

"Don't let the monitor fool you, it's just a precaution," Becket said from behind him.

The steady beep-beep thrummed through John's veins, and he actually felt better watching the lines go up and down, peaks and valleys of evidence that Rodney was fine. "So, what happened?"

Beckett led them back out to the main ward. "Rodney has the occasional strange reaction to a lot of drugs; pain killers and anesthetics being some of the large categories I have to watch out for."

Elizabeth asked, "So that was just a bad reaction to his medications?"

"Not quite," Beckett amended. "Rodney has had several surgeries in the last two months. One dose of general anesthetic can occasionally throw you for a loop, leaving you with severe muscle craps or the need for larger amounts of sleep, as two of the more common events."

The Earthers in the room all nodded, John himself had been under enough to know that occasionally it took a bit of extra effort to shake it off. He assumed the rest of them had had similar experiences.

" I don't have to tell you what long-term exposure to heavy duty painkillers can do to a regular person." Beckett crossed his arms and resumed leaning against the nearest wall. "Rodney's constantly had reactions to most painkillers, ranging from nausea, to overtiredness, to dizziness and dehydration. It varies depending on the category the medication comes from."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "That would explain why he carries a detailed version of his own medical file around with him. With his own notes attached."

Teyla smiled warmly at the thought. "So he simply did too much too fast?"

That made Beckett's easy façade fade a bit. "It's true, it probably wouldn't have happened, at least to that level of severity if he'd remained here and not gone tap dancing on another planet. However, from the moment he found out you were late coming back, he started doing too much and then when your captors dialed here and demanded him in return for your life, well, there was no talking him out of it."

Elizabeth turned to face the rest of them. "The argument was well thought out and utterly ridiculous."

John frowned. "How'd he win?" He couldn't imagine Elizabeth giving in so easily.

Elizabeth and Beckett shared a pained look before Beckett answered him. "He promised to blame us for your deaths, and then said he'd go back to Earth, stating he could do the same research there just as well as he could here now. He then followed up with a series of increasingly ludicrous suppositions based on his leaving Atlantis. He was very compelling." Beckett looked upset. John wasn't sure whether it was over the apparent dismal picture Rodney had painted, or over the fact that he had fallen for it.

Elizabeth took up the tale, also making a face. "After we finally agreed, he immediately started trying to talk Carson into giving him several drugs to help him through the ordeal."

Horrified and full of ridiculous visions of the sorts of things Rodney had needed in order to walk through looking as healthy as he had -- and John was using the healthy in a very liberal sense, because Rodney had looked ready to keel over at any moment, John glared at them.

"I stopped shy of the Valium," Beckett assured him. "But there was a massive dose of pain killers to counteract all the possible movement, some stimulants, Compazine, a few other things. I'm fairly sure it's the cocktail that really slipped him over the edge in the end."

The room's silence felt heavy on John's skin, and he really wasn't trying to give Beckett the evil eye, after all when Rodney was really convinced he should do something, it was awfully hard to stop him. "So he'll be fine?"

"He'll have a nasty hangover and I'm sure his hand is going to be none too pleased," Beckett said. "That was an awful lot of movement, all things considered."

John agreed whole-heartedly. Radek put a hand on his arm.  
"Please let me know when he wakes," Radek said. "So that I may tell him what an idiot he is in person."

Beckett smiled. "I'm way ahead of you on that one."

******

Rodney slept for most of that day and the next, waking occasionally to pee, sip water and one time, throw up. John knew this because he had the honor of being there for one of the more spectacular moments that included all three.

Of course, during his most lucid periods, before and after he threw up, Rodney took the time to tell John exactly what he thought of his ill conceived attempts at not getting captured while offworld.

Thinking back, John was pretty sure Rodney had attempted to yell at him *during* the vomiting as well. The twelve-year-old in John thought it was kinda cool.

The adult part of him watched as Rodney remained green looking and exhausted for long hours, not really able to sleep, but barely awake, as the drugs worked their way out of his system.

Thankfully, Elizabeth's rule of thumb was that if you got taken hostage you got a few days of downtime. Not actual days off, as John did actually have a base to run and Lorne was looking ready to organize a mutiny if he shoved off any more of the work on him. Lorne was resourceful and he'd learned not to insult the science divisions. It was possible he could pull it off.

Late during the second night, John eased into the infirmary, feeling Rodney's recent turn for the unconscious, meant he could visit during a bit of free time. Rodney's coloring seemed to have improved and his arm looked more relaxed. John took the nearby chair and settled in for a couple of hours of FreeCell.

"…oh god…"

The computer jumped in John's grasp as he was startled at the quiet words. He looked up to see Rodney wiping his face with his good hand.

"Rodney?"

Rodney rubbed his eyes with his fist. "Who let the puddle jumper land on my head?"

John grabbed the nearby cup and filled it with water. "I believe the parking spot was your choice."

Sipping carefully, Rodney winced. "Don't remind me. When did I decide that risking my brain like that was a good idea? I'm worth at least two of each of you."

John pursed his lips, mildly annoyed. "Even Zelenka?"

"Possibly only one and half of him," Rodney conceded.

"Next time, have a little faith, huh?" John said, grabbing the computer again and checking his score. "I had a plan."

"Oh really?" Rodney settled back into the bed, looking smug. "What was this plan? Were you going to convince them you should all be friends with a wink and a smile?"

Not one to be outdone, John made himself more comfortable as well. "That was plan B. Plan A involved convincing them you were so annoying it wasn't worth it."

"Oh," Rodney said. "How was that working out for you?"

"Pretty well."

Rodney slid back into sleep after that, and John might have felt the slightest bit guilty, but he got over it. He switched to spider solitaire and settled back in.

He'd just moved on to four suits, when Rodney twitched in his sleep. After no more movement seemed imminent, John went back to the game, only to be interrupted by a small sound; a high-pitched huff, then another, and another. Rodney's fingers were moving restlessly, eyelids flicking quickly.

"Rodney?" John whispered.

A larger twitch.

"Rodney, wake up." John laid a careful hand in the center of Rodney's chest, feeling the accelerated heart rate under his palm. "Come on, it's just a nightmare."

Rodney's left hand jumped and covered John's, as his eyes shot open. "John?" His hand squeezed, fingers wrapping around John's palm until he had three of John's fingers trapped between his thumb and forefinger. "John," he said shakily, eyes clearing.

Staring at their hands, John blinked slowly. "You okay?" His voice was low, maybe a little breathy.

"Colonel." Rodney said quietly, voice back to where it should be. His fingers squeezed again, and John winced, automatically wiggling them for more room. They ended up palm to palm, fingers laced together.

Oh, this was so not good. The warmth of Rodney's hand, calloused and strong was distracting at best. It was the beginning of the downfall of his career and life as he knew it at worst.

"You're still here," Rodney said.

"No I'm not. Figment of your imagination." John stared at their hands, stuck at the image, which sat there in his chest and hurt just a little bit.

"Oh good, hallucinations are a new side affect." Rodney's fingers shook, his thumb making little circles in the back of John's hand.

John closed his eyes, his head automatically turning away. Rodney's thumb continued circling, small tight circles that wound deep inside John.

"I'm sorry," Rodney whispered, not stopping.

"Stop being sorry," John said just as quietly. "You're not the one who keeps getting--" He cut himself off; because denial only worked if he didn't acknowledge something was there.

"But I do." Rodney squeezed again.

John allowed himself one quick caress of his own, and one last squeeze, before straightening his fingers, stretching them wide to dislodge Rodney's grip. "And that's maybe the best reminder yet."

Rodney let go without too much resistance. "Reminder of what?"

"Of why this--" he gestured between them, finally looking Rodney in the eye, "shouldn't be."

Rodney looked at him sadly. "I remember. Friends."

"Friends," John agreed.

******

After that, there was no more touching. By silent agreement, they stayed at least three feet apart, and perhaps childishly, John managed to never actually hand Rodney anything either.

John continued visiting often, because now his pattern had been well and firmly established, and it'd be more risky to change it. Rodney was slowly regaining movement. His schedule had changed again, and now John's usual visiting time landed at the tail-end of Rodney's solo exercises.

Watching the small silver stress ball being squished inside Rodney's right hand was strangely hypnotic. Bits of silver peeked out from under shaking fingers, expanding outward in small increments. After he was finished, a nurse would come along to encase the hand in a large mitt type thing that warmed the sore muscles.

Rodney filled the time with chatter about the inhabitants of Atlantis. Apparently he was sleeping in gossip central, and the nurses didn't pay attention if they thought you were asleep.

John found the small amount of actual information helpful on some level. Even knowing what gossip was floating around came in handy on occasion.

Two weeks into their new arrangement, Rodney glared at him in severe agitation "So, apparently Radek is sleeping with Teyla."

John felt he should have been drinking something so it could have come out his nose.

Rodney pointed an accusing finger at him. "Aren't you supposed to know about these things?"

"What?' John asked. "It's not like they got down and start doing it right in front of me."

Rodney pulled a face. "And thank you for that image."

John threw the stress ball at him. "It's just a rumor, I doubt it's true."

"What?" Rodney looked offended. "Don't think a scientist could bag Teyla, Warrior Princess?"

"And thank you for that image." John frowned, attempting to erase the picture of Telya in leather and armor, being followed around by Radek in a long flowing skirt.

"Are you imagining Radek in the red outfit or the yellow?"

Covering his face with his hands, John groaned. "Both." He shuddered. "I hate you."

******

Time passed and John went offworld, got bruised and scraped, and was occasionally almost married off to the chieftain's oldest daughter. He found out Zelenka was indeed sleeping with Teyla, but it was described by Teyla, as something between two warriors who found the stresses of the day to be too much.

John thought that was pretty poetic for fuck buddies. But since they didn't do it offworld, he really didn't care. Someone should be getting some.

Rodney was finally allowed to move back to his quarters and resume a semi-regular schedule. The labs started running a little smoother, and Zelenka was not the least bit insulted when Rodney announced it over dinner one night.

"I do not have the time to do both his job and mine," Zelenka shrugged, and went back to his almost beef.

There was still an obvious lack of stamina, and a laundry list of things that Rodney couldn't do with only one hand. He also started predicting the weather with alarming accuracy.

John occasionally came across Rodney sitting quietly, staring at his computer, wincing as he rubbed at his healing hand. Those times, John carefully stepped back and left.

Thankfully his sleeping had settled after those first weeks of tossing and turning, and he'd been able to grab some solid hours in the intervening months. Usually he was only interrupted by the usual Pegasus dreams and nightmares, with one small blip in the days following The Hand Incident, which he stubbornly ignored.

A quiet knock roused him out of a light sleep. Small emergencies that day had left him tired but paranoid.

Slipping a shirt on, he stumbled around until he managed to get the lights to come up at low. The door slid open and Rodney stood on the other side, looking disheveled and twitchy. "Rodney?" he asked, not quite believing what he was seeing.

Rodney licked his lips and pressed them together, his left hand fidgeting nervously with his right, rubbing at it absently.

"Rodney?" John asked again, already guiding him inside.

The door shut with a quiet whoosh, and Rodney let out a sigh of air. "I don't know why I came here."

John closed his eyes and opened them again, seeing Rodney's pale face looking haggard. He sighed deeply. "What's wrong?"

The silence stretched, and John took a seat on the bed, too tired to continue standing. "You think about it. I'll just be asleep over here."

He'd almost been lulled back down into the warmth and comfort of relaxation by Rodney's unsteady breathing when Rodney suddenly spoke.

"I dreamed about playing the piano," Rodney blurted rapidly.

Cracking his eyes open, John saw Rodney hugging himself tightly, and pacing around the room.

"It's stupid. I haven't played in years." He stopped and looked at John. "I haven't *thought* about it in years."

Sitting up slowly, John threw his legs over the side, and gestured for Rodney to sit down next to him. His weight sank the mattress just enough that they settled against each other, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, side to side.

"I just," Rodney went on. "I suddenly can't imagine never being able to do that again." Shoulders slumped and head bowed, Rodney ran a hand through his hair. "Not the sort of nightmare you'd expect, huh?"

"I dream about never being able to fly again," John told him. "It doesn't take much to get your flight status taken away."

Rodney swallowed. "I never felt… artistic… creative., until I came here," he said quietly, resignation littering his voice. "What if I can never do that again?"

John sighed, too tired to come up with the right words, too caught up in Rodney's slump to know where to start. A decision clicked in his head, and he scooted back into the bed. "Come on, Rodney, let's get some sleep."

"What?" Rodney's eyes widened. "I thought that…" He made an indistinct gesture.

"There's a moratorium for life altering realizations." John yawned. "Just sleep, Rodney."

Rodney nodded jerkily. He slipped his shoes off and crawled under the covers, laying stiffly, his back against John's front. Slipping an arm over Rodney's side, John's hand slid neatly into the Rodney's waiting one. He hooked his chin over Rodney's shoulder. "Just sleep," he said again.

Rodney's muscles became lax against his as he relaxed in small increments, and John warmed up in places all over. He took a deep breath and felt his eyes grow heavy, sleep pulling him under to the sounds of Rodney's careful breathing.

******

 

******

John ached with pleasure as he rocked slowly against Rodney, his cock nestled carefully in the warm crease Rodney's ass provided. A slow, agonizing shuffle of hips left him gasping, face buried in Rodney's sweaty neck. It was an unhurried grind, sending sizzling bolts down his spine.

Rodney's hand clenched at his ass, pulling him closer, fingers digging into muscle and making John gasp. In turn, he stroked Rodney's dick, warm and hard in his hand.

They moved together, a slow crawl towards ecstasy, muted groans with each measured thrust. John licked Rodney's skin, salt and hot summer days burst onto his tongue, leaving him lazy with pleasure, glad to lose himself in smell and taste and heat.

Gentle turned to insistent, and Rodney's body was warm and firm against his, straining with exertion. It felt so good, his dick twitching lazily, friction a dizzying counterpoint to the quiet, hushed pleas.

Rodney's fingers trailed town to John's thigh, pulling until it rested comfortably over Rodney's hip. A better angle made him shudder violently with pleasure, and then a hand closed over his dick and he gasped--

\--awake. Eyes open, great gusting breaths, dick twitching violently, his hand clutching at it desperately. His other hand was still holding Rodney's, grasped loosely between lax fingers.

He squeezed the base of his cock and rolled out of bed, sliding his hand out of Rodney's, burning from the touch. Once he was on the floor, he took long breaths, before making a quick exit to the bathroom.

The shower was cold, painful, and full of ten kinds of denial. He leaned heavily on the wall, more tired than when he'd gone to bed. When he returned to the scene of the crime, with a head of wet hair, and shivering slightly, Rodney was gone leaving only a ghostly impression behind in the bed.

******

The thing about getting ahead of the curve was that there was only so far you could go before you were behind it again. More power and easier access to Earth meant more supplies, more equipment and more people, All of which led to a need for more space.

The initial urge to explore Atlantis had been dampened by their mistakes; infectious nanites that made your head explode were the scientific equivalent of a cold shower. After that, they'd all gotten well and truly distracted and the exploration of new space had taken a back seat. It had progressed, but not at the pace it should have.

Now, instead of going offworld, John was stuck organizing exploration parties so that the newest arrivals due in a few weeks wouldn't have to bunk together.

Rodney at least, looked like he was enjoying himself. He ran around telling people what to do, what not to do, where to touch, and where not to touch, though there was a whole lot of the latters and very little of the formers.

"You! Do you want to die?" Rodney snapped. "Label the rooms, open the doors, look inside. If it's not a lab, you may enter. If it is, you are to wait for either me, Zelenka or that guy," he snapped his fingers, "tall, with the blonde hair."

John wasn't all that surprised when everyone just nodded politely. Out of reflex and maybe a little bit of nostalgia, he partnered himself up with Rodney, whose hand was still firmly bound in a brace and tucked protectively against his chest.

Rodney carried a gun, having proved that he could shoot from the hip using his left hand if necessary and it was oddly comforting to see him, dressed in a uniform complete with thigh holster, wandering around poking at his computer.

Rodney took one last look at the gathered group. "Power here is a bit iffy; we're still working on stabilizing and reconnecting everything that's been periodically destroyed over the last year and a half. If you have a problem, you have radios for a reason."

John nodded in approval, not feeling the need to add anything else.

Of course, the lack of surprise he felt when the door closed behind them and the lights immediately flickered out, was almost comforting. "I blame you," he said morosely, pointing at Rodney's shadowed form. "You're the one who mentioned all the stuff that could go wrong."

"Oh yes." Rodney flicked on a flashlight. "Because Atlantis has ears and has a taste for irony."

They both stopped breathing.

"Sorry," Rodney said quietly, voice pitched upwards. "Um, just in case the nice flying city is actually sentient after all, please feel to enjoy all the irony all you want."

John looked up into the shadowed ceiling. "Yeah, it's funny." He forced a laugh.

They waited for a beat.

"Okay," Rodney sighed. "That was ridiculous."

"Ignore him, baby." John patted the wall. "He loves you too, he just has a funny way of expressing it." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "It's not his fault, he's Canadian."

"You can shut up now." Rodney's shadow moved to the darkened panels, hovering in front of them for a few seconds. "Completely dead," he said as he slid to the floor. "You're the hero, you call for help."

John did as ordered, and let the Radek know where they were and why they were stuck.

Radek's muffled laughter didn't exactly give him the warm and secure feeling he was looking for, but he promised he'd get on it right away.

"We're never going to hear the end of it," Rodney moaned. "I can hear Radek's mocking laughter right now."

"Of course you can." John took a seat on the other side of the door. "He laughed through most of my explanation."

Rodney made an indistinct sound, which mutated into a quiet hiss.

"What's the matter?" John shuffled over to Rodney, to see him cradling his still-healing hand.

"Pressure change," Rodney muttered. "Probably going to rain later."

"Ah," John said, watching the shadows move as Rodney rubbed at his aching hand. Without thinking he reached for it, feeling Rodney stiffen as his fingers hit the brace. "In the joints, or is it muscular too?"

"Muscle cramps," Rodney said faintly.

John nodded, carefully tracing the taut lines of Rodney's palm.. The skin under the hard edges of the brace was slightly sweaty, giving him just enough slickness to feel the small knots.

Something tight gave under John's fingers and Rodney gasped, high pitched and needy. John flushed all over, a segment of dream flashing behind his eyes.

"There's only so much heat and stretching can do," Rodney said, a catch in his voice. "Oh yeah, to the left."

Swallowing hard, John moved as asked. "You tell that to Beckett?"

"Pain is part of healing." Rodney was obviously quoting. "I can't have my own personal masseur following me around at my beck and call." He sighed. "At least that's what they tell me."

John made a sound that might have meant agreement.. He concentrated on finding the next little bump of muscle under his fingertips.

"So is this how it works?" Rodney sounded resigned, head titled back, shadows darkening around his eyes. "I don't think I've ever practiced this level of denial before, and this is coming from a man who hit on Samantha Carter like there was no tomorrow."

Heart hammering, John stopped his fingers. "Rodney…" he croaked.

"I just --" Rodney didn't move his injured hand, but that didn't stop his free one from flailing around. "I need some parameters. I need to understand because you're all over the map. When I agreed that we should be friends, although I'm pretty sure I was very high when we had that conversation, because usually I have more fight in me than that, I thought I knew what the definition of friendship was."

John stared at the hand cradled in his, fingers curling loosely around each other, becoming a small nesting of jointed braches. "You came to me," he accused.

" You told me to sleep in your bed," Rodney accused right back. "And last time I checked we weren't two fourteen-year-old girls."

Frowning in confusion, John finally looked up, "Two fourteen-year-old girls?"

"I was trying to avoid the obvious lesbian overtones anyone older would have invoked." The corners of Rodney's lips pointed down. "You obviously have certain repressed homoerotic issues to deal with."

John flinched at the word 'homoerotic'. "That's very kind of you, Rodney," he said dryly.

Rodney made a disgruntled sound. "I ask again, is this how it's going to be, actions without words? Willful ignorance of exactly what we're doing?"

"When did you get so self-aware?"

"I spent six weeks in a hospital bed before they'd let me even think about doing work again," Rodney snapped. "Even someone as dense as I am can come to a few conclusions in that amount of time!"

"What do you want me to say? That the elephant in the room hasn't just been sitting there?" John's voice was rising to match Rodney's. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't care what you say!" Rodney yelled, leaning into it. "Just follow through with it!"

"I can't!" Just like that, John deflated. "I can't," he said again quietly.

"So we play the game where I pretend you weren't seconds from coming all over my back that morning, and we studiously participate in the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing!" Rodney was right in his face, breathing hard.

"Yes!" John answered. "That's what we do! That's how we survive!"

"That's unbelievably stupid!" Rodney grabbed John's chin and forced him to look at him. "Are you listening to yourself?"

"Rodney," John pleaded. "All I can see is you going down in a hail of gunfire or spears, or some large grunt holding a gun to your head, demanding things I can't give!"

"And that's different now?" Rodney asked incredulously. "At this very second those things don't scare you to death?" He raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Because seriously, that's the sort of shit that should always worry you. I'm very important to this expedition, and you should quake in your boots at the thought that I won't be around to help save all of your asses next time around!"

All the breath John had in his chest came whooshing out. "I'm not scared you won't be here to save us. I'm afraid of what I'll do before that. An irrational man with a gun is not what we need." John's fingers found their way to Rodney's face, mirroring Rodney's hold on him. He stroked gently.

Rodney's eyes softened. "It's like twenty years too late for that, isn't it?" He shook his head. "We're already there, whether we have a--" he stuttered over the word, "r-relationship or not."

John closed his eyes, leaning into the hand on his cheek. "It will blow up in our faces, and I'll have to go back to Earth with a dishonorable discharge and if I'm lucky, no time in Leavenworth."

Leaning in closer, touching John's forehead to his own, Rodney whispered, "At this rate, it'll blow up in our faces anyway."

Then they were kissing, soft and desperate, clinging to each other tightly. John made a needy sound that was swallowed by Rodney's blistering mouth as it covered his own.

Rodney was everywhere, grasping and stroking, pulling them tightly together. John just went with it, sinking into the kiss with all the energy he'd spent previously avoiding it. He reached for Rodney's injured hand, cradling it to his chest and then bringing it close to his lips so he could scatter small kisses along the parts he could reach. Rodney peppered kisses down John's neck, warm, moist patches working their way to his collar bone.

They curled around each other. John drew Rodney's face back up for another long kiss, smooth and satiny, He opened his mouth, drawing Rodney's tongue inside, sucking on it carefully. Savoring the feeling of freedom in allowing himself a little of this, heat bloomed in John's chest as Rodney's lips teased his.

"Colonel Sheppard."

They jumped apart with a wet sound as John's radio buzzed. Gasping quietly, he gave himself three seconds to gather himself together. "Sheppard here. What's the situation?"

Radek's voice buzzed in his ear. "I am about to connect a temporary power source to the doors. It is quicker than attempting to fix the greater problem."

Rodney was already tugging at his shoulder, moving them away from the door which opened with an anticlimactic hiss. Radek smiled and gave a jaunty wave. "If you are done being lazy, we still have nearly fifty percent of the designated search grid to cover."

Rodney muttered something about ungrateful lab assistants, brushing past John, with barely a nod. He was out the door before he realized John hadn't followed. He turned back and offered a withering look. "Colonel? You coming?"

John swallowed, double entendres sucked. "Yes, mother," he called, moving out of the room.

******

Atlantis was an opportunity hog. The moment you needed a chance to breathe, you didn't get it. New personnel, new pretty trinkets, new everything, and it all needed to be put away and tucked into bed. If John maybe took on a little more responsibility than usual, no one noticed, except for Lorne, who had a new and improved understanding of the confidentiality and respect one should afford their commanding officer.

Especially if one didn't want their coffee rations cut in half.

Sometime around day two of 'The Chaos That Shall Hence Forth be known as Bob and Never Spoken of Again' -- John would never understand the science department -- he tried not to be disappointed when he realized he hadn't even had to duck quickly around a corner to avoid Rodney.

Radek slumped down next to him at dinner, blowing an errant bit of hair off his face. "Bob is dead, long live Bob," he muttered, before clutching at his cup of coffee like it might try to run away when he wasn't looking.

"New stuff all stowed away?" John asked, pulling his dessert closer in case Radek decided to do something rash.

Radek nodded. "And new people safely locked out of the system until McKay can teach 'How not to blow yourself up before I have my twelve cups of coffee 101'.

John nodded around a mouthful of freshly mixed powdered mashed potatoes. "So then I can sleep soundly tonight knowing there won't be any accidental emergencies."

"I'll be sure to arrange a small fire in someplace remote, just for you, Colonel." Radek glared at him over his cup.

Ronon cleared his throat loudly. "On my world, we used to say that you shouldn't sell your children before they are born."

John listened as Radek choked on his coffee and he closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me that's an old wive's tale or something?"

"My mother told it to me as young one, if that's what you mean." Ronon looked more perturbed by the rest of the table's reactions than his own words.

"Yeah, Ronon," John said faintly. "That's exactly what we meant."

Shrugging, Ronon went back to eating and Radek slid surreptitiously closer to John.

Sleep that night was fitful. John was restless and irritated, annoyed with himself for being upset that Rodney, who had argued so adamantly, had been too busy to make sure the old ball and chain hadn't jumped ship.

The water was looking mighty fine from his vantage point. Less court-martials down there.

He gave his pillow another punch, and rolled over for the dozenth time, falling into a restless sleep.

The faint whispering of air and quick change of light startled him back awake some time later. Rolling over, he spotted a shadow along his wall and was halfway to his sidearm when the familiar shape of his visitor made it through his sleep-fogged brain. "Rodney?"

Rodney made a shushing noise, raising his index finger to rest on his lips, the universal 'don't speak' motion.

Confused enough to play along, John nodded mutely.

Feet shuffling about, Rodney struggled a bit until two loud thunks reached John's ears. Shoes probably. Then Rodney stalked across the room – or what would have been stalking if he hadn't tripped over the chair and ended up hopping, one foot clutched in his hand, making high-pitched hissing noises of pain.

Out of respect, John muffled his laughter.

Rodney fell onto the bed with a loud "whumph." He rubbed his foot for a few more seconds before turning determined eyes on John.

John swallowed as his heart began beating rapidly. "Rodney?"

"Sssh." Rodney swung his legs up onto the bed and flipped onto all fours, hobbling a bit as his right hand moved automatically to support himself. He shuffled up John's body, limbs splayed, holding himself above him. Heat suffused into John through the air and he gasped, just as Rodney's lips met his in a bruising kiss.

John Palmed the back of Rodney's head, fingers gliding through short and surprisingly soft hair. It was good enough to make him forget all of his objections, the slide of Rodney between his lips, slick and agile. He tried to pull Rodney closer only to have Rodney's lips curve against his. Rodney gave his lower lip one last suck and pulled away, leaving John breathing heavily.

He trailed his mouth down John's shirtless chest. Hot trails of pleasure followed Rodney's long sucking kisses and wandering hands. John's nipples were licked and sucked, making his back arch and his hips seek some sort of contact.

His cock grazed against Rodney's stomach, the brief contact shocking in intensity. A breathy chuckle sounded from around his midsection, and the brace-laden hand on his sternum pushed lightly. "You will not distract me from my master plan," Rodney whispered into his skin, free hand skimming along the waistline of John's boxers. He mouthed along the sensitive skin, following the elastic as it slid over John's hips. Easing it over his aching cock, Rodney nuzzled its base, licking in small circles.

John's eyes crossed as he tried to watch before he fell back to bed, breathless. Then the most amazing, hot, mind sizzling thing happened as Rodney let the tip of John cock slide past his lips; warm and wet, hot and slick. Rodney's hand was where his mouth wasn't, pumping lazily as John slid in and out.

One of John's legs fell to the side, offering Rodney more room to work. His lips slid fractionally lower, then up again, and John couldn't think past the ungodly amazing feelings coming directly from his cock. Rodney did something with his tongue and John could feel the tension rise fast and excruciatingly good..

He felt like one large raw nerve, twitching all over and --oh god-- Rodney was sucking, cheeks hollowed and flushed in the darkness of the room. Rodney's hips moved restlessly against the blankets even as he sucked harder. John broke out in a sweat as every muscle in his body clenched and shuddered and burned with pleasure.

Breath caught in this throat, he came in long trembling pulses and Rodney swallowed around him making it go on and on until finally he whimpered, boneless and completely spent. With one last obscene pop, Rodney let him go, eyes shining and hips still moving impatiently.

Catching his breath John made a flopping gesture with his hand, which was supposed to say 'Come here.' It probably was closer to 'mnugh, brain puddle of come.'

Rodney seemed to understand him anyway, because a few seconds later he slithered up John's body, rubbing the entire way. "Please," Rodney whispered into his mouth. "Won't take much."

John nodded, kissing Rodney hard, lips wide and open, tongue delving into Rodney's panting mouth with abandon. His hand found Rodney's pants already open, and he dove inside with the same enthusiasm, palming the hard cock in his hand.

Tearing away, Rodney buried his face in John's neck, panting heavily. "Please, John," he said over and over, the words melting together into one long incoherent babbling plea.  
He thrust erratically, sliding the wet head of his cock over John's sweaty palm. John rolled them slightly, so he could pin him down as he finally got his hand wrapped firmly around Rodney, pulling in long possessive strokes.

The cadence of Rodney's lips against his shoulder changed. "…faster, faster, please, faster…"

John obliged, shortening his strokes, forehead braced on the tip of Rodney's shoulder, breathing deeply, dizzy with the smell. "Come on, Rodney…" He was on the verge of losing himself -- oh god how someone could smell so good? It boggled the few brain cells John had left, and his cock gave a little twitch of agreement.

Suddenly the body underneath him tensed. Rodney's lips went wide against his skin and then he shuddered violently and curled around him, hips pushing, actually dislodging John from his place on Rodney's side.

Finally Rodney collapsed against him, breathing still uneven and raspy. "So," he whispered in John's ear. "Wow. That was completely worth the broken toe."

John kissed Rodney's forehead, deeply grateful for the inanity of his comment. He reached over the side of the bed for the shirt he'd discarded before going to sleep. "Your toe is not broken."

"It better be." Rodney took the shirt and wiped himself down. "There was talk of making me exercise tomorrow."

"The horror," John said dryly, skimming his hands down Rodney's sides, feeling less softness than he'd imagined. "You need the muscle mass, don't complain."

Rodney pushed himself under the covers. "I was stuck in bed for two months, what did you expect?" He flung an arm over John's stomach, showing no inclination to move. "What's wrong with regaining what I lost, in a more traditional manner?"

"We're still rationing food, Rodney," John said sleepily. "Now it's time for all good little scientists to pass out. One of us is going to freak out in the morning, and we'll need to be well rested for that."

That made Rodney push up, hand skimming across John's stomach, the edge of the brace irritating John's over sensitized skin. He looked John in the eyes, a worried gaze peeking out from behind a flushed and satisfied face.

John brushed a lazy finger down Rodney's cheek. "Please, Rodney, just sleep?" He sighed, bone weary and more sated than he remembered being in years.

"Fine," Rodney grumped. "But you better save your freak out until after I've had at least five hours of sleep, or I'm really not going to care all that much."

"Deal," John muttered, eyes already closing.

******

John's freak out was superseded by a small rebel contingent of Genii soldiers trying to sneak some explosives in with the latest trade shipment from what had used to be a nice little planet with a pleasant little farming community.

He did have a brief moment of terror when he realized Rodney was still heavily asleep in his bed -- which that could cause all kinds of trouble -- as he zipped up his vest and checked his P90.

On the other side of the gate, Lorne gave him a tired nod and then threw him to the ground as some artillery exploded nearby. "Thanks," John yelled above the noise.

"Not a problem, sir. I just broke you in.." Lorne crawled behind the makeshift barricade. "Would be a waste of manpower to let you die now, sir."

Lorne was turning into a real smartass, and John was really okay with that. "It's not the camaraderie that keeps me in the Air Force, but the respect of my peers." More shots were fired and John sent a few back for good measure. "How many do they have?"

"Three villagers, Lieutenant Bennett and Dr. Parrish," Lorne said tightly. "They don't sound inclined to give them up so easily."

John nodded, inching the periscope around the edge of the overturned wagon. "You got any Intel on their positions?"

Lorne drew a diagram in the dirt, outlining the nearby buildings and possible positions of the Genii soldiers He circled a lopsided square on the right. "That's where we think the hostages are."

John studied the makeshift diagram, taking quick peeks at the actual village to orient himself. "Okay, so, any idea what they want?"

Lorne looked away and fidgeted. "Well, sir, they were actually pretty clear about it."

Blinking widely, John gave him an incredulous look. "And you didn't think that'd be useful information to send through before?"

"Well." Lorne shrugged. "Considering what happened last time…"

A light dawned, and John wondered if there was some sort of genetic anomaly in the Pegasus galaxy that made their enemies gluttons for punishment, and ungodly unimaginative. "You're kidding me."

Lorne shook his head.

"They want McKay?" John felt the need to clarify, because, come on.

Lorne nodded, appearing to be braced for something.

John's laughter apparently was not it and Lorne gave him a surprised look. Shaking his head, John pointed to various places on the makeshift map. "Okay, I'll do the usual song and dance, while Lorne, you take two men and sneak around the large barn and those cottages over there and get our people."

Everyone took their positions and John tilted his head so that he could yell over the wagon. "So I hear you've got a crush on one of my scientists!"

The lack of gunfire was very satisfying, the lack of anything else was less so.

"Look," John went on. "You want him? I mean seriously, have you thought this through? They had to have told you the stories right? Koyla must've bitched about McKay till his face turned blue." They probably wouldn't mind the great blow jobs though -- and didn't that just make his heart beat hard and his hands feel jittery. Oh right, freak out on hold. He opened his mouth to start in on the benefits of some sort of timeshare, when the unmistakable sound of a bullet reached his ears from off in the left.

Well shit. "Come on, guys, we were just getting a nice dialogue going!" Two more bullets and John grabbed his P90, heading off in the direction of the hostages.

He took only a small amount of pleasure in the shots he landed on the way, annoyed at the number of times he had to duck and cover, their aim was getting better. Lorne and company were heading in his direction, and laying cover fire in leap frog successions, they made it back to the gate.

Dialing was the most perilous part of ,mission, but there were about seven people with guns spreading more cover, and John managed to press the symbols in record time.

They ran, John waiting for the last of them to go through before shooting one more batch of suppression fire and turning tail and running himself. At the last second, something pushed him from behind, making him lose his balance and land on his knees on the other side with a stinging pain in his thigh.

He remained bowed on the floor, catching his breath. The idea of standing up was a bit nauseating. Lorne was just a few feet in front of him and clutching his arm, blood dripping through his fingers.

"You okay, sir?"

"Um." The pain was slowly radiating outward. "Probably not." His hand came away from his outer thigh slick and red. "Make that definitely not."

Lorne nodded. "Medic! Over here!" Two generic beige and yellow clad people swarmed to Lorne. John looked around for Beckett, wondering why the doctor hadn't already-- oh, Parrish was on the floor too, looking pale and unhappy.

Lorne shooed the medics over to John, who was starting to gray out a little. They pushed him to the ground and there was a tearing sound -- his pants, John realized belatedly.

Someone yelled out, "Gunshot wound! Through and through!"

They hurried him onto a gurney ,and just as the needle broke the skin John had the fleeting thought that if he survived, Rodney was going to kill him.

******

"So normally I'd be pretty upset about a lot of things right now, but the fact that you got shot in the ass mitigates most of it."

John groaned, momentarily unhappy to be alive. He cracked his eyes open to see Rodney hovering over him, face grim and posture stiff. John had the feeling his own glare at that moment was less than effective.

"No really, I laughed a lot," Rodney continued, lips pursing and voice lowering, "It was hysterical to wake up alone, stumble around trying to look casual, and then hear that call over the radio." He shrugged. "But like I said, a bullet in the ass makes up for a lot."

"Thigh," John protested, his voice raspy.

Rodney offered him the straw from the cub clenched tightly in his hand. "Ass."

John sipped, bliss seeping through him as the water wet his parched mouth. "Thigh."

Clucking his tongue, Rodney pursed his lips and got that far away 'I'm thinking of important things' look. "One could almost say that it's a real world manifestation of your own personal issues," he said conversationally.

Right about then would be a spectacularly wonderful time for him to die in a horribly tragic and almost never unheard of gurney accident. The kind that happened for no discernable reason, but was always quick and painless.

Rodney crossed his arms and frowned. "Also, I had my first round with my new set of exercises, and I've decided that Carson secretly has a membership at the Atlantis branch of Paddles."

Oh yeah, that horrible gurney accident could happen at any time now. He was suddenly very tired and Rodney's voice faded into the background. Sleep overtook him with a ghostly hand squeeze, relaxing him into the black.

******

Beckett confirmed that John had indeed been shot in the upper thigh, but apparently it had been fairly close, and he still had to watch how he sat down. Most of the time he ended up leaning to the left, eventually with one shockingly numb cheek.

Rodney appeared once a day, no matter where John was. He stayed just long enough to say something scathing, do something that made John's knees suspiciously week and disappear again before John could find the right words to say.

Not that he had any idea what they'd be when he thought about it later.

His appointment for final wound care found John listening outside a closed door to Rodney's raised voice.

"…I can't, Carson! So just get off my back!"

Rodney stormed out the door and past John so fast that John nearly lost his balance, his leg still not quite up to par.

Beckett followed him out, looking tired and stressed.

"Everything okay, Doc?" John asked, following Beckett to the nearest exam table.

"Par for course," Beckett sighed, "Rodney's just caught up with the fact that there may be no miracle cure and he's letting it hold him back from any progress that could be made."

"Why sweat the pain?" John asked, already familiar with the concept.

"Exactly," Beckett nodded.

It was around then that John realized he wasn't exactly an invalid anymore and was able to use those tracking skills the Air Force had spent all that money teaching him.

He found Rodney on a small balcony outside of the science labs, coat pulled taut over his shoulders, shivering slightly in the evening breeze.

"That can't be good for your hand," John said, slipping fully into the cold night air.

Rodney jumped, spinning wildly before focusing on John. His back stiffened and his shoulders gained a stubborn set. "It can't possibly hurt any more than it does at the moment. So I think I'll stay."

John shook his head, stepping close enough feel the small movements in the air from Rodney's shivering. Incremental changes in the heat John could feel along his side elicited a strong craving to curve himself along Rodney's flank, soak up that heat before it escaped into nothingness.

Instead he sidled up next to Rodney's right hand and pulled it gently away from its protective place against his chest. "The worst part of physical therapy is not that it hurts," he said quietly, concentrating on uncurling Rodney's fingers. "It's that you don't know where the finish line is."

Rodney made a noise that could have meant anything and John pressed the pad of his finger into the soft flesh just under the thumb. The muscle was tense and unyielding and Rodney's breath caught as John rubbed in tight circles.

When Rodney finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "I miss the stupidest things." His hand flexed in John's. "It's not just the white board, because that's actually slowly coming back. A large marker doesn't require all that much finesse." He hissed as John shifted his grip, moving onto the next tense muscle. "I miss pen and paper. I miss being able to get down more than one sentence at a time without my hand feeling like it was folding into itself in an effort to replicate some pathetic doctoral thesis on n space."

John carefully released the Velcro holding the fabric and plastic against Rodney's hand. The inside was slightly damp; a day's wear and tear on enclosed skin. Running his fingertips over the warm skin, John felt small prickles of goose bumps rise at exposure to the cool air.

"Sometimes it shakes," Rodney admitted, voice hushed. "It's just a tremor, but fine motor control is important when building a nuclear bomb, you know." He finished the sentence off with a small laugh, subtly shifting closer to John, their legs brushing against each other.

"Just because the universe is headed towards entropy is no reason to think that it won't get better." John traced the muscles from the base of Rodney's wrist all the way to his elbow, letting his thumb dig in just enough to feel the line of tension all the way up.

"The best part?" Rodney sighed, his arm flexing. "I think my dick misses my right hand."

John's fingers squeezed just a little too tight and Rodney flinched. "Sorry," John murmured.

"At first it's exciting, you know?" Rodney said, warming up to the subject. "You can imagine it's someone different, and the fact that it's my less dominant hand just adds to the fantasy, the clumsiness, the pressure just a little bit off." The timbre of his voice lowered, and he pressed further into John.

One long pull down Rodney's arm brought a gasp of pleasure to John's ears, and he smiled past his own hazy thoughts, enjoying the faint pressure of Rodney's body against his. He wanted to pull Rodney the rest of the way, to lose himself in the warm press of Rodney's body, feel every gasp. Rodney's lips would open for him easily; John's kisses would be met with single-minded determination that would narrow the world down to nobody else but them.

He wanted to push Rodney against the wall until one of them couldn't breathe in without the other breathing out. He wanted to hear Rodney gasp his name, breathless and pleading and he wanted to do the same for Rodney.

Instead, he squeezed Rodney's arm gently, slowly breaking up a large knot near its base.

He spent long minutes listening to Rodney's breathing, hearing the pitch and timber sway as he found the places of highest tension and rolled them around under his fingers.

"I'm scared," Rodney said eventually. "I can work with uncertainty in small doses. Will I be his lunch? Will that spear penetrate my aorta? Does this bruise mean internal bleeding? Long-term is a bit more problematic."

John nodded his understanding. At that moment he couldn't think beyond the next crisis, beyond keeping the presence of Atlantis a secret and the fact that Rodney had somehow wormed his way under John's skin until John was pretty sure he wouldn't know what to do without him there now and that if anyone found out he was beyond screwed. He dealt with Rodney one moment at a time, one possible slip at a time. Anything larger just made his brain hurt.

His hands moved down Rodney's arm, pressing firmly at the tendons. "One step at a time," John advised. "Break it down." Rodney's hand moved under his, stopped being pliant, and caught John's in a tight grip. "The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step and all that jazz." He turned to Rodney, giving him a lopsided smile.

Rodney's grip lightened almost immediately, his hand didn't have the stamina. Nevertheless, Rodney's lips twitched into the shadow of a smile. "I want to kiss you," he whispered, leaning in. "Badly."

A flash of heat prickled over John's skin. Hot then cold, instantly half hard at the thought. "Not out here," John rasped, panicked. "Rodney, you had to know that there would be things that I-- that we--"

"Yes, yes," Rodney interrupted with a knowing tone. "Even holding my hand is an insult to the institution you call a career. I understand." He pushed against John with his hip. "That doesn't mean I can't dream of a utopian society where I could pin you up against that wall and try my best to lick your tonsils."

John ducked his head. "I hardly think that's what Moore was talking about." The image flashed behind his eyelids, vivid and shadowed, and heat tingled up his spine making it hard to think.

Rodney's hand still laid limply in his own. Full of daring and obviously brain dead from lust, John lifted the hand to his lips, kissing each scar, feather light, just enough pressure to feel the puckered skin.

Rodney gasped faintly, pushing his hand closer, his thumb skimming under John's top lip. They had to stop before it got out of hand. Need thrummed under John's skin and his mouth opened up just enough to let the thumb slip past his teeth.

"That's not making that kissing urge disappear." Rodney was inches away, his nose grazing John's neck. "Oh god, you make me so-- I can't even describe it." He sucked carefully at a patch of skin just under John's ear.

Sparks that made him tremble zipped along John's nerves, the rough feel of stubble against his skin adding to the good sensations. He groaned low, sucking Rodney's thumb deep into his mouth for long, tantalizing seconds before pulling it gently away. "Stop, Rodney."

Rodney's movements slowed without argument. His lips pulled back, but they stayed bowed together, foreheads touching for a moment. "Right, we maintain the horrible cliché, and stick to locked rooms and small dark closets."

"Right," John agreed, doing his part to move away, albeit slowly.

They returned to their original positions, two friends standing on a balcony, staring out into the horizon, shivering in the night.

******

Because John knew that quiet conversations and stolen moments on balconies were a little like New Year's resolutions -- sincerely meant but quickly forgotten in the light of day -- he dug out the small overfilled crate and sorted through the contents of Rodney's booty. He'd shoved it away in a corner and forgotten about it weeks ago, but he'd assessed the situation early, and known that it'd come in handy later. One wrapped Hershey bar was tucked neatly into the corner. Smiling, John nabbed it and stuffed it deep into his pocket. Perfect.

He caught Rodney between destinations. John poked his head out of the shadows and 'pssst'd.

Rodney stopped abruptly and looked around, head swiveling.

"Over here," John stage-whispered, purposefully lounging against the wall in a James Deanesque sort of way. "Rumor has it you're looking for something to get you through the day."

"Excuse me?" Rodney eyed him warily.

"First one's free." John slipped open the flap of his pocket just enough so that the foil could reflect off the light in the corridor. "It's the real deal, good stuff."

Rodney studied him, momentarily confused before shaking his head and putting his hands up in what he probably thought was a non threatening manner. "Have you hit your head? Can you point to where it hurts?"

John smacked the hands away. "Calm down before you get us busted." He pulled the flap of his pocket up further, stretching the fabric away just a bit. "Now do you want in or not? I'm sure I can find another buyer. Parrish looks the type."

"Waitaminute!" Rodney leaned closer into John's personal space, grabbing the edge of the pocket and pulling.. "Chocolate?"

Making frantic shushing noises, John smacked at the hands again. "You want?"

"Of course I want!" Rodney's eyes narrowed. "What do I have to do?"

"For this one?" John slipped the bar out of his pocket and into Rodney's. "Nothing."

Patting himself down, Rodney's hand traced the outline of the bar inside his clothes, still looking suspicious. "There's more?"

John nodded smugly.

"What's the catch?" Rodney's entire face was a frown, but his hand still hadn't left the slight bulge in his pocket.

"Nothing too difficult."

"What. Do. I. Have. To. Do?" Rodney edged closer, making threatening gestures.

"Two complete sessions with Beckett." John waited for the inevitable explosion.

It never came.

Instead, Rodney looked at him curiously. "Huh. I thought the word blowjob was going to come into play."

John swallowed thickly and shook his head.

Rodney smiled widely. Shark-like. "Oh, well then," he said deceptively lightly. "Deal." He turned on his heel and walked off whistling.

Oh, John was so screwed.

******

 

******

There were days it wasn't worth prying himself away from his wet dreams, John thought muzzily, as the world shifted further out of focus.

"Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla's face swam before him. "Are you all right?"

John shook his head and then stopped abruptly; the tilt-a-whirl was too much. "I think that drink was spiked."

Ronon caught him when his knees gave out, one arm wrapped firmly under John's armpits, and John found himself fighting the urge to cuddle. Oh yeah, definitely spiked.

Radek appeared in front of him. "Colonel, tell me what you are feeling."

Slinging an arm around Radek in a sort of half-hug, John smiled happily. "Radek, have I ever told you that I think you're a really cool guy? For a scientist?"

Awkwardly Radek patted him on the back. "That would be happy pills then."

"No really," John insisted. "You're just… nifty!" Nifty was an awesome word.

"You are an inspiration to me as well, Colonel," Radek said dryly. "Perhaps you could stop petting my hair?"

But it was so soft. John frowned and pulled his hand away reluctantly.

"If he says peachy keen, I'm asking Dr. Beckett to sedate him, for his own sake." Radek's voice floated over John's head, but he was too busy admiring the bit of stomach Teyla's shirt showed. That looked soft too. Possibly also inviting.

…and belly buttons weren't supposed to talk. Oh right, happy pills.

The whoosh of the gate was sooo pretty, all rainbows and cloud bursts and waterfalls. Everything was also starting to trace, there were two Ronon's, three Teyla's and oh hey five Radeks, but then again, he was moving around the most.

Going through the stargate itself was wicked. everything went even more rainbow and then fuzzy like mohair. Atlantis came into view like a pretty candy coated house, gleaming in the sun.

People swarmed all over him, pulling him, yelling over his head until-- "Rodney!" He stumbled over to amazing, wonderful, perfect, carebear Rodney, and threw his hands around Rodney's neck, hugging tightly. "Rodney, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney! Where've you been?"

Rodney flailed and they nearly fell to the floor, but John caught them, because John would never let Rodney fall. "I missed you!" John squeezed hard, happy to feel Rodney's ribcage under his arms.

"Okay, Colonel," Rodney wheezed. "But depriving my brain of oxygen like this is a crime against humanity."

John loosened his grip and moved to the side, because Rodney seemed to be taking them somewhere, and when he was standing in front, they kept tripping over each other.

"Where we going?" John asked, because he had things to do, he always did things when they came back.

"Someplace with less people," Rodney said, sounding out of breath.

It was a nice idea, and John was starting to think that less people was good. He smiled widely. "I like this less people thing."

Rodney pulled them through a door and they stumbled as they switched directions, but that was also okay, because John pulled Rodney closer, nuzzling behind his ear. He loved that spot, soft and rough, and it smelled so fuzzy and warm, like chocolate. He licked it, oh yeah, so perfect. "I love you so much."

Rodney froze beneath his fingertips, and John frowned, because Rodney was talking to someone and it wasn't him.

"…no one but Beckett!"

"You want Beckett to join us?" John peered at Rodney, who was looking back at him all worried and wide-eyed and flushed. Mmm. Flushed. John shrugged. "If it makes you happy."

"Oh my god, don't *say* things like that." Rodney was pushing him "And get out of the doorway's line of sight."

John frowned. "But you have to promise not to run away with him." He moved where Rodney was pushing him. "Because that would really suck."

"I'm not running away with anyone you idiot." Rodney tapped his ear. "Okay, Carson, come in."

"Good, because I don't know if I could do that." John rested his head on Rodney's shoulder. "It's hard enough saying yes."

Beckett appeared at his side, "Now, Colonel, Ronon and Teyla have gone back to the planet to get a sample of what you drank, but can you tell me how you feel?"

"Latex," John poked at the hands prodding him, and turned to Rodney. "You sure about this? That latex thing is a real turn-off."

"Oh my god." Rodney grabbed his hands. "I do not want to sleep with Carson!"

Beckett froze, his hand somewhere on John's chest. "I sense a previous conversation that I wasn't privy to."

"You kissed him!" John accused. "In front of everyone!"

Rodney let out a frustrated sigh and spoke very slowly. "Colonel, that was Lieutenant Cadman in my body, remember?"

"Oh, right, with the dart and stuff." John thought hard. "Are you sure? Because you can't do that with me." The hands examining him stopped suddenly, this time somewhere on his back. He giggled a bit. "Doc, that stethoscope tickles."

"Sorry," Beckett mumbled. " I suppose that answers my question as to whether you're still feeling the affects of the drug."

Rodney squeezed his hand, and John had the sinking feeling that something important had happened.

"Carson?" Rodney's voice went all soft and concentrated.

John was maneuvered onto a nearby gurney by two sets of hands.

"Rodney," Beckett's voice came from above, floating somewhere over John's head, "I'm a doctor and he's my patient."

Rodney's hand was a steady presence, palm flat against John's chest and fingers curled over his shoulder. "Thank you, Carson." Relief was in his voice, though John wasn't sure why.

******

John woke up from the worst nightmare he'd ever had. Looking around, he frowned, confused. He was in a small room, crammed solid with medical equipment. He studied the walls for a minute, trying to figure out where he was.

"It's one of the private rooms. We don't often utilize them, but on occasion they're useful." Beckett was on his right, checking the machines. "How are you feeling this lovely morning?"

Beckett was moving sluggishly and tired circles marred his face. John gave him a pointed look. "Better than you."

Shoulders relaxing minutely, Beckett smiled. "Ah good, the drugs have worn off then, I'll be giving you a quick exam before moving you to the main ward and finding myself someplace soft to lay my head."

His most recent memories were foggy and cartoonish. "Why aren't I there now?"

His question made Beckett stop abruptly and lean carefully on the railings of the bed. "Rodney and I thought it would be best if while you were still… affected by the drug, there weren't too many people around to hear you."

A great sinking feeling started in John's chest. "Oh."

Beckett thrust a hand out, covering John's abruptly. "Listen, Colonel er--" His face shifted around uncomfortably. "John," he tried again, but it sounded clunky coming from Beckett's unpracticed mouth. "You don't have anything to worry about."

John pulled his hand away, possibly a little too abruptly. "Sorry," he mumbled over the roaring in his ears. "Just can't deal with this right now."

Nodding slowly, Beckett went back to work. "Should I get Rodney?"

John didn't have an answer.

******

John spent a lot of time staring at the infirmary walls, easily attributing his new interest in quiet contemplation to a space-drug hangover. He had the usual string of well-wishers, Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon, Radek, Lorne-- it was slightly calming but not overly so, insofar as no one mentioned anything that had happened and John himself still only had the vaguest of memories.

Caldwell visited too, and that made John's heart jump into his throat.

"I thanked Dr. McKay for his quick thinking."

John blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

Caldwell shifted uncomfortably. "By removing you from the public eye, Dr. McKay prevented what could have been an embarrassing situation for everyone involved."

"Oh yeah, that's McKay for you, always thinking about other people," John said dryly.

"Dr. Beckett informs me that your condition only worsened once you were alone." Caldwell looked like he might be trying to be play nice, but since his expression didn't change, it was hard to tell.

"Well then." John sighed, faking a yawn, "I'll be sure to thank McKay next time I see him."

Caldwell nodded, stared at him for a second, then turned on his heel and left.

Once he was alone again, John turned onto his side and closed his eyes, something hot and painful blooming in his chest. He'd been so busy trying to decide what to say to Rodney, he hadn't even realized Rodney hadn't been in to see him yet.

The surge of emotion that followed that revelation was bitter tasting. John's stomach cramped, his last meal sitting like a hard lump sitting like stone.

Beckett came to release him about an hour later, his eyes looking tense as he regarded John. "You're fine, Colonel."

It was possible Beckett was attempting to speak to him on many levels, but that was hardly the point anymore. Despite never having actually thought of getting drugged with alien happy juice that was like the ultimate truth serum as one of the possible ways he'd end up screwing himself over, it was all the same in the end.

The fact that it had happened so soon was just another strike in the 'very bad' column.

Once he was alone in his room, John slumped on his bed and contemplated continuing his adventure as a morose sixteen-year-old girl. He could really go for a pint of mint chocolate chip.

"You owe me some chocolate."

John's head snapped up to see Rodney just inside his door. "Don't you ever knock?"

"I'm trying to beat this rumor that's been going around, something about me being a decent human being."

Rolling onto his stomach, John resisted curling around his pillow. "God forbid."

The bed dipped, and he could feel Rodney climb in next him, a bundle of warmth against his left side. "Carson said you were looking a bit out of sorts."

John shrugged. "Hungover."

"Sure." Rodney didn't really sound like he was agreeing so much as quietly mocking. It was comforting.

John shifted so that he was lying on his other side, facing Rodney. "Is this what coming out feels like? Minus the sheer terror that you could be jailed for having great sex?"

Rodney frowned, but his eyes were soft. He reached out and traced a calloused figner down the side of John's face. "There should be sex now," he said softly.

John stared at Rodney for a long moment, not even pretending to understand the train of thought that led to that particular statement. Rodney's cheeks were flushed and his tongue peeked out, licking his lips quickly. Reaching out to trace a line from Rodney's forehead to his lips with his fingertips, John's hard knot of fear melted away.

The prickly feel of stubble under his hands -- Rodney's stubble -- was shockingly erotic. "Yeah, okay," John said quietly.

Rodney kissed him softly, shifting so that they were face-to-face, and John could reach anywhere he wanted to. The warm solid presence of Rodney pressed up against him, wiggling in small bits as they drew small moans of pleasure from each other.

Finding the hem of Rodney's shirt, John dragged it over his head. Rodney scowled at him, his hair askew. "You could have asked."

Shrugging off his own shirt quickly and pinning Rodney to the bed, John dove for a small patch of skin he remembered tasting great, just under the ear.

"Oh," Rodney said faintly. "Never mind, apparently the Neanderthal thing works for me."

The drag of skin against skin was unbearably erotic. Rodney's hips slowly working against his, coupled with the hands dragging down his back leaving fiery trails, just made John hold on tighter. Suddenly that moment, the feelings thrumming through his veins were new and heady and so much more important than anything else, ever.

Rodney dug into his hip, hot and hard and everything just felt amazing and good enough to melt his bones, if he didn't need to come so badly already. "I want to fuck you," he rasped into Rodney's skin.

They both froze, and John untangled them enough to look Rodney in the eye. "Can I?" The question settled heavily between them, sinking into John's skin, the ache intensifying with each second Rodney spent considering.

Suddenly he was pulled in for a deep kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy and John whimpered into it as his tongue shoved in and out of Rodney's mouth, licking and sucking until he was breathless.

They broke apart panting, and Rodney was already nodding. "Yes, okay, fuck me."

There was a scramble to get out of the rest of their clothing and John spent a good thirty seconds frantically searching for something slippery, but not too absorbent, Rodney was the one who finally rolled his eyes and searched through the little table next to the bed.

"I can't believe you actually turn me on this much," Rodney muttered, sliding back onto the bad, face up and knees bent, holding out the small bottle of lubrication to John. "You do know what you're doing, right?"

John swiped the bottle with a small amount of annoyance, and a large amount of affection. "Tab A, Slot B, how hard is that?"

"Considering I'm the one risking severe personal injury, I hope you're kidding." Nevertheless, Rodney's legs slipped open fractionally as John settled between them.

John eased one slick finger inside of Rodney, and all conversation abruptly ceased, He watched Rodney's face as he slid in and out. Rodney's hips shifted a little, searching out more of his finger.

"Oh yeah, that's oh--" Rodney's mouth opened wide into an O shape and he froze briefly, before gasping loudly.

John's dick twitched a little and he had to close his eyes and think of very unsexy things.

"Forget it," Rodney's voice reached him. "Just do it." The words wavered as John pushed in again, this time with two fingers.

It was all a hazy pleasure induced blur, until suddenly he was easing into Rodney with a careful push, and his thighs burned as he supported himself over Rodney. He was aching to just shove inside, to be surrounded by Rodney's slick, furnace-like heat.

"Oh, yes-- John." Rodney pushed up, forcing John all the way in.

"Rodney," John said reverently, voice shaking. He stroked any bit of skin he could reach, too afraid to move. He was tense and burning, each breath a slow but inevitable slide towards ecstasy. He buried his face in Rodney's chest, tasting the skin under his lips, mouthing Rodney's name over and over.

"Move." Rodney was breathless and shifting under John impatiently. "Please, god, move."

The first twist of his hips had Rodney arching off the bed, clutching at John, who caught his flailing hands carefully. He kissed the right one gently and pushed them down above Rodney's head. From that angle, he could only manage short little thrusts that seem to undo both of them a little more each time.

Rodney's cock was hard between them, leaving hot little trails on John's abdomen, and that just made it even better. Rodney's breath hot in his ear, loud huffing whines, pressing the occasional searing hotness of a kiss into John's skin.

Finally John's hips moved uncontrollably, friction burning its way up his spine and exploding through him, Rodney rippled around him, milking and pulling out each wave of pleasure until they both collapsed, shuddering and twitching.

John could feel Rodney's heartbeat stuttering wildly beneath him. He looked up to see Rodney looking back at him, eyes wide, emotions written plainly on his face.

Rodney closed his eyes tightly, cupping John's cheek with his palm, thumb stroking gently.. "You told me you loved me." The words were said matter of factly, only the faint crease in the corner of Rodney's eyes and slight waver in his voice gave anything away, "I'm thinking I'm going to hold you to it."

The memory surfaced clearly in John's head; his arms slung tightly around Rodney, his emotions so close to the surface, so easy to read and understand. It had been so easy to not be afraid. He'd said it then, without thought.

Rodney's eyes peeked open. "You know, despite the fact they you just fucked me into a few less IQ points, this laying on top of me while my hips slowly start to scream in agony, and not responding to me laying myself open like that, is not the post coital moment of my dreams."

Carefully, John pulled out, gasping slightly at the aftershocks. Rodney produced a towel from somewhere and wiped himself up. John put his hand over Rodney's and finished the cleanup himself. He stared at Rodney's stomach. "I remember."

"How to clean up?" Rodney pushed onto his elbows, the faint outline of his abdominal muscles clear. "I should hope so, don't they teach you these things in Colonel school?"

John froze momentarily, the cross-contamination of the two worlds sending its usual shock through his system. "I remember how it felt to be able to say it," he clarified.

"Oh." Rodney swallowed. "And?"

John slid a hand across Rodney's face, thumb skimming along the cheek bone. He tugged gently, drawing Rodney in for a slow kiss. "In a perfect galaxy, there are many things I'd like to be able to do."

"That's not an answer." Rodney did that thing with his mouth, the one that twisted his lips and showed about fifteen levels of displeasure, but this time it was accompanied by a small lick of uncertainty, leaving his lower lip shiny in the dim light.

Unable to resist, John leaned in and licked it, sucking lightly. The glazed look in Rodney's eyes made him smile warmly, feeling possibly a little bit giddy. "I'd add you to my pension plan if I could." He waited, holding his breath.

Rodney's eyes smiled first, his lips only twitching slightly, he'd gotten it. John smiled back widely, laughing. They both laughed a bit hysterically until Rodney finally hiccupped into small almost giggles. "You can have joint custody of my cat."

******

Rodney, it turned out, was motivated hugely by little bits of chocolate; especially once he figured out he could save them up and scatter them all over John's skin.

John wasn't really complaining either.

About four or five chocolate bars later, Rodney was cleared for limited off-world activity. Beckett had defined that as the ability to handle moderate stress in the case of an emergency, with a side note saying that he meant the hand, Rodney was another matter all together. John smiled thinly and chuckled.. Beckett was making a peace offering.

He made a mental note to think about reciprocating the effort later.

John purposefully picked a mission that Rodney could participate in, something simple; practically grocery shopping it was so domestic.

In retrospect, he thought maybe starting with that point of view was what had doomed them in the first place. It'd happened very quickly; one moment Rodney was muttering and complaining about wasting his time playing with the technologically uninformed -- denying tooth and nail that he was enjoying every second -- and the next, he was being dragged away by an angry looking man holding a gun that seemed disturbingly familiar.

John hit the ground hard, heart pumping erratically, and crab crawled next to Ronon, who always somehow managed to dive directly for the object that would give the best cover. "Genii weapons," John growled, anger already starting to bubble over. "I thought these people had never heard of them?"

Ronon just blinked at him mildly, assimilating the information, and John had to remind himself that Ronon hadn't been there for their previous fun and adventures with the Genii.

Teyla made an angry noise and checked her weapons. "It appears things have changed."

Taking a deep breath, John peeked over their cover -- a series of boulders -- just in time to see Rodney relieved of his weapon and pushed to his knees on the ground. Rodney went down fast, his pained grimace and clenched jaw a testament.

"Careful! My bones are very close to the surface, I may have permanent bruises!" Rodney glowered up from his place on the ground.

John winced as someone shoved Rodney in the small of his back, giving him enough momentum that he put his hands out to catch himself. The hiss of pain as he did so did not go unnoticed by any party.

They were forced to watch as Rodney's hands were dragged behind his back and secured. The sounds of Velcro ripping echoed sharpl,y and the three of them cringed.

"To get a better hold," Ronon muttered unnecessarily.

Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop, John did what was becoming alarmingly familiar, "So can we get on with the negotiating already? I missed lunch and I get cranky when that happens."

"You have got to be kidding me!" Rodney yelled back. "Seriously, are you trying at all anymore?"

"Dr. McKay, so very good to see you again."

The voice, cold and precise pierced through the odd silence and John had to brace a hand on one of the rocks, the uneven surface pushing into his skin. "Koyla!" Unbidden, a flashback to Star Trek II whipped through John's head. "What the hell do you want?"

"What do any of us want?" Koyla asked conversationally. "To get through life with as a little pain as possible, I suppose."

John closed his eyes and bumped his head on the nearest hard surface. "And what will get us as little pain as possible?"

"You may have noticed a series of events over these last months, a conspiracy of sorts to acquire something of yours." The footsteps that accompanied the statement were evenly spaced, probably pacing, though John wasn't in the mood to check. "Despite his obvious negative qualities, Dr. McKay has proven fairly malleable in the past, enough so that the pluses outweigh the minuses."

"I knew I should have shot you!" John growled, checking the safety on his gun.

Koyla tsked condescendingly. "Major Sheppard-"

"Colonel!" both Rodney and John yelled. It warmed John for the half-second before Koyla spoke again.

"Forgive me, Colonel." The word was elongated and mocking. , "Sheppard, we haven't really had a lot of time to catch up. Were you demoted?"

"No, were you?" John grit his teeth and reminded himself that just shooting the bastard was probably not the wisest course of action.

"As entertaining as all this is, I think that Dr. McKay here would appreciate it if we got on with the festivities." Koyla sounded smug and it took John very little time to realize why -- the sounds of a fist hitting flesh were all too clear. "If I recall correctly, pain is not something he is accustomed to."

"What the hell was that for?" Rodney sounded winded and wheezy. "Do you wander around sucker punching innocent bystanders all the time? What am I saying, of course you do, probably some sort of Genii children's game."

If Rodney didn't shut up, John was going to kill him -- assuming they survived this. "Okay, Koyla," he asked in a facsimile of reasonable, although there was possibly a little snide mixed in. "The ball's in your court."

Before Koyla could reply, Rodney spoke up again. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Shut up, McKay!" John yelled, frustrated.

Koyla's laugh left a bitter taste in John's mouth. "I think this might be easier than I'd originally hoped."

"Just tell me what you want, Koyla, so that I can get on with saying no!"

"What?" Rodney squeaked. "Can we remember the part where I'm not supposed to die?"

"Rodney!" John had to work hard to keep it below a bellow. "I swear to god, I will wring your whiny neck if you don't shut the fuck up!"

"Again, are you kidding me?" Rodney yelled. "This is my life you're playing with here, and all things considered, I thought you'd care a little more!"

There was a scuffling sound and Rodney's voice suddenly went muffled and soft. "Please tell me you gagged him?" John asked hopefully, angry beyond belief.

"I thought it would be easier to talk if Dr. McKay were to remain silent. He has a nasty habit swaying the topic of conversation."

"That he does," John agreed, hands on the verge of shaking. "Now tell me what you want."

"Actually," Kolya called back. "I don't really want anything at all, though if I can drag Dr. McKay's loud-mouthed self back through the gate when all this is done, it will be a plus."

Rodney's incoherent yells reached John's ears just as he realized exactly what this had been all about -- they were the distraction. Kolya was probably waiting to set his terms before sending off a signal to another group elsewhere.

Right on schedule, Kolya continued speaking. "It is going to work like this. You and your team will remain here, quiet and complacent, until I receive the correct signal. You do anything, and McKay gets to die a painful and very slow death. I think you're about to do anything, same ending. So I'd suggest you get comfortable, we're going to be here for a little while."

John slumped, blowing out a harsh breath. "Okay," he whispered. "Anyone got a better idea?"

Ronon peered around the edge of their cover. "They seem very arrogant." He took another look. "And untrained."

John pressed his lips together. "I'm surprised they have enough people already, considering the sixty I took out last time." He took a moment to appreciate Ronon's impressed look. "Odds are Kolya's the best one out there, by leaps and bounds."

Teyla took her look at the situation, her limber body able to contort better than either he or Ronon could even dream of. "If we were to give Dr. McKay proper warning, I believe he would be able to take cover; there are a number of large rocks near to his position."

John sighed unhappily. "All right then, what's the plan?"

******

No one would believe it, of that John was sure. John wasn't even sure *he* believed it, and he was there, studiously not watching. When Teyla had made her suggestion, John hadn't told her categorically no, simply because he'd been too shocked. By the time he'd gotten around to trying to say it, Ronon was already nodding his head in interest, offering suggestions for his part of it.

"This is a stupid plan," John said, checking his weapon anyway. "You'll be completely exposed." He blushed furiously. "I mean, no weapons, no vest…"

Teyla made a quiet amused sound. "I understand your concern, Colonel."

"Not to mention the fact that Rodney is pretty much the biggest letch you'll ever meet, he'll never know when to duck," John went on. "And the affect this'll have on team morale--"

"I think," Ronon interrupted, sounding far too entertained for his own good. "That it will be good for morale."

"You shut up." John waved a warning finger at Ronon. "If you miss that shot you're supposed to take, I'll personally come back and haunt you."

Ronon was apparently the only one of his team who still followed orders but even he had started to learn the difference between the spirit and the letter.

The plan -- John was loathe to actually call it that -- involved Teyla wandering into the open, and being very clear about proving she had no weapons. While the masses were drooling in her general direction, Ronon was going to shoot their one genuine threat, and John was going to risk the wrath of Rodney by tackling him to the ground.

It all happened very fast. Teyla's verbal cue was the stuff of fantasies. She spoke in a low seductive rumble. "Would you like me to remove my top?"

Ronon and John moved as one, popping past the barrels. John ran, his feet hitting the ground in long strides, and he tackled Rodney as planned, just as Kolya's angry face went down in a blast of red.

Rodney made a distressed noised from underneath him. John ignored it and rolled them out of the line of fire, before getting to his knees and taking out anyone else who was left.

Rodney continued to struggle beside him, his sounds getting higher and higher-pitched. Seeing that Ronon and Teyla had it well under control, John turned and carefully worked the gag out of Rodney's mouth.

"Ow! Damnit! My hand!"

Stuffing the gag back in, John worked his hands under Rodney's body, ignoring the once again muffled complaints, and worked at the tight knots holding Rodney's hands together.

The ropes finally unraveled. Rodney's right hand held a familiar tenseness to it, and John couldn't resist giving it a brisk rubdown, soothing the worst of the cramps.

Of course that left Rodney's left hand free to remove the gag. "Whose brilliant idea was that? Yours?" Rodney turned an accusing glare on John. "I'll just bet it was."

"Hey!" John held up his hands, "It was all Teyla."

"I meant the part where I didn't get to see."

"Or the part where you didn't get shot?" John asked dryly, taking a look at their surroundings.

Ronon practically saluted him with his eyes. "Only six of them were armed, the rest ran off."

John was unsurprised. "We weren't the main objective. Make sure Kolya is tied up and very far away from anyone or anything else." He turned to Rodney, looking worriedly at his hand. "You okay?"

Rodney nodded.

"Good," John breathed. "Do not *do* that again!"

"I'm sorry." Rodney gave him the most acidic look John had ever seen. "I'm just addicted to getting captured. Is there a meeting I can attend? Yours, maybe?"

Not falling for it, John braced his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Rodney! You can't just--" he cut himself off. "Don't be flippant about this!"

Rodney's eyes slid past John and focused on a point behind him, before looking John in the face. "Colonel," he said carefully, "it's my job to freak out, remember?"

"You don't know it," John said, pulling Rodney in for a quick hug, nothing fancy, just one shaking arm slung around Rodney's shoulders. "But I'm the big freaker outer in this relationship."

Rodney froze under his arm, before he snuck a careful hand around John's waist and squeezed. "Well, we did establish early that you *are* the girl."

The head slap was meant to be affectionate, really. Rodney scowled at him, but even that couldn't cover his wide smile. John turned to find Ronon and Teyla staring at them and smiling, both looking entertained and a bit surprised..

Immediately, John jumped away, reflexes pumping adrenaline back into his system. Rodney's face fell fractionally and John winced even more. He was about to open his mouth and explain-- well something, when the sound of gravel had him whirling. Ronon and he shot at the same time, and Kolya fell to the ground with a final thump.

"Damnit!" John spat. "That was not what I'd planned."

Rodney was looking grimly satisfied; he walked over and poked Kolya with his boot, before giving him a kick for good measure. John sank to the ground, leaning on the nearby stones. "Someone dial up Atlantis and make sure they're ok?"

"I will do it," Teyla volunteered.

Rodney took a seat next to him, for once not saying a word, just pressing their sides together, and leaching the excess adrenaline from John.

"Don't hyperventilate," Rodney eventually warned. "I'm out of brown paper bags."

Teyla returned looking calm. "It seems there was some sort of attempt on the city, but Radek caught it far too early for the attackers to do any damage."

John blew out a tired breath, and pumped his fist in a lazy motion. "Go, Radek."

"I always liked him," Rodney agreed.

There was an awkward silence.

"Should we not return to Atlantis?" Teyla asked.

John shook his head, "Teyla, Ronon," he began and then stopped, "there are conversations that--" he stopped and started again, "there are things that--"

"The relationship," Teyla interrupted him firmly, "between you and Dr. McKay is private and should remain so."

"And," Ronon filled in. "Should anyone ask, the proper answer would be 'what relationship?'"

Teyla laid a companionable hand on John's shoulder, squeezing gently. "This was a product of surprise on all our parts. Now that we have… come clean, it will no longer be a problem."

There was a sharp jab to his ribs, and he twisted to see Rodney giving him an annoyed but bemused look. The affection in Rodney's eyes was -- startling. The tight feeling in John's chest vanished with breathtaking speed.

The air left John's lungs in a long slow whoosh. Teyla had a way of putting things into perspective that was just -- jarring. He squeezed the hand on his shoulder back, and let it go. "Okay, then." He stood, stretching, feeling the string of tension release with a few pops of his back. "Let's go find out where the villagers are hiding, and renegotiate ourselves a trade agreement. After this, I think we can squeeze out a few more barrels of those cool blue fruit things."

He offered Rodney a hand standing up, a preemptive strike against the bitching he knew was coming. Rodney's hand clasped over his, pulling a bit roughly, and John had to brace himself, because Rodney had literally left most of the work to him.

Without even a thank you, Rodney found his way to the center of the destruction and picked up his brace, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Would you look at that? That'll never be the same."

John smiled, the unfettered complaint reassuring, like an old record. "Play it again, Sam," he muttered to himself.

Rodney appeared next to him, frowning. "Oh, you are so not Bogart." He started walking ahead, trying to catch up with Teyla and Ronon who had already begun moving on. "And that line wasn't even in the movie!" he called, not looking back.

Oh yeah. John smiled brighter. He could work with this.

******

THE END

 

 

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